-•• 


SANTA 


ODD  FELLOWS  HOW 


WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS 


fiaittlin  Garland's  BooKs* 


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Jason  Edwards. 

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D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


WAYSIDE 
COURTSHIPS 


BY    HAMLIN    GARLAND 

AUTHOR  OF  A  SPOIL  OF  OFFICE, 
A  LITTLE  NORSK,  ETC   :    :    :    :   5 


NEW  YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
M  DCCC  XCVII 


Copyright,  1897,  by 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1895,  1896,  1897,  by  Hamlin  Garland 


1317 


7%*  meeting  of  true  lovers'  eyes 
Seems  wrought  of  chance  ;  and  yet 
Perhaps  the  same  grim  law  abides 
Therein  as  when  the  dead  one  lies 
Low  in  the  grave,  and  memory  chides ', 
And  with  hot  tears  loves  lids  are  wet. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

AT  THE   BEGINNING I 

A  PREACHER'S  LOVE  STORY 5 

A   MEETING   IN   THE   FOOTHILLS 55 

A   STOP-OVER   AT    TYRE 99 

AN    ALIEN   IN   THE   PINES 171 

THE   OWNER  OF   THE   MILL    FARM             ....  2OI 
OF   THOSE   WHO    SEEK  : 

I. — The  prisoned  soul  ......  223 

II. — A  sheltered  one 226 

III. — A  fair  exile 230 

IV. — The  passing  stranger       .  247 

BEFORE  THE  LOW  GREEN  DOOR  .        .        .        .        .  253 

UPON  IMPULSE 263 

THE  END  OF  LOVE  IS  LOVE  OF  LOVE.         .         .         .  279 


vii 


AT  THE  BEGINNING. 

SHE  was  in  the  box ;  he  was  far  above  in  the 
gallery. 

He  looked  down  and  across  and  s-aw  her  sitting 
there  fair  as  a  flower  and  robed  like  a  royal  courte 
san  in  flame  and  snow. 

Like  a  red  torch  flamed  the  ruby  in  her  hair. 
Her  shoulders  were  framed  in  her  cloak,  white  as 
marble  warmed  with  firelight.  Her  gloved  hands 
held  an  opera  glass  which  also  glowed  with  flashing 
light. 

His  face  grew  dark  and  stern.  He  looked  down 
at  his  poor  coat  and  around  at  the  motley  gallery  which 
reeked  with  the  smell  of  tobacco  and  liquor. 

Students  were  there — poor  like  himself,  but  with 
great  music-loving,  hungry,  ambitious  souls.  Men 
and  women  of  refinement  and  indomitable  will  sat 
side  by  side  with  drunken  loafers  who  had  chanced  to 
stumble  up  the  stairway. 

His  eyes  went  back  to  her.  So  sweet  and  dainty 
was  every  thread  on  her  fair  body.  No  smell  of  toil, 
nor  touch  of  care,  nor  mark  of  weariness.  Her  flesh 
was  ivory,  her  eyes  were  jewels,  her  heart  was  as 
clean  and  sweet  as  her  eyes.  She  was  perfectly 
clothed,  protected,  at  ease. 
l 


2  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

No,  not  at  ease.  She  seemed  restless.  Again 
and  again  she  swept  her  glass  around  the  lower 
balcony. 

The  man  in  the  gallery  knew  she  was  looking  for 
him,  and  he  took  a  bitter  delight  in  the  distance  be- 
tween  them.  He  waited,  calm  as  a  lion  in  his  power. 

The  man  at  her  elbow  talks  on.  She  does  not 
hear.  She  is  still  looking — a  little  swifter,  a  little 
more  anxiously — her  red  lips  ready  to  droop  in  dis 
appointment. 

The  noise  of  feet,  of  falling  seats,  continues. 
Boys  call  shrilly.  Ushers  dart  hastily  to  and  fro. 
The  soft  laughter  and  hum  of  talk  come  up  from 
below. 

She  has  reached  the  second  balcony.  She  sweeps 
it  hurriedly.  Her  companion  raises  his  eyes  to  the 
same  balcony  and  laughs  as  he  speaks.  She  colors 
a  little,  but  smiles  as  she  lifts  her  eyes  to  the  third 
balcony. 

Suddenly  the  glass  stops.  The  color  surges  up 
her  neck,  splashing  her  cheeks  with  red.  Her  breath 
stops  also  for  a  moment,  then  returns  quick  and  strong. 

Her  smile  settles  into  a  curious  contraction  that  is 
almost  painful  to  see.  His  unsmiling  eyes  are  look 
ing  somberly,  sternly,  accusingly  into  hers.  They  are 
charged  with  all  the  bitterness  and  hate  and  disap 
pointed  ambition  which  social  injustice  and  inequality 
had  wrought  into  his  soul. 

She  shivered  and  dropped  her  glass.  Shivered 
and  drew  her  fleecy,  pink  and  pale-blue  cloak  closer 
about  her  bare  neck. 

Her  face  grew  timid,  almost  appealing,  as  she 


AT   THE   BEGINNING.  3 

turned  it  upward  'toward  him  like  a  flower,  to  be 
kissed  across  the  height  that  divided  him  from  her. 

His  heart  swelled  with  exultation.  His  face 
softened.  From  the  height  of  his  intellectual  pride 
he  bent  his  head  and  sent  a  winged  caress  fluttering 
down  upon  that  flower  like  face. 

And  then  the  stealing  harmony  of  the  violins  be- 
gan,  gliding  like  mist  above  the  shuddering,  tumultu 
ous,  obscure  thunder  of  the  drums,  and  the  mans  soul 
swept  across  that  sea  of  song  with  the  heart  of  a  lion 
and  the  wings  of  an  eagle. 

A  tender,  musing  smile  was  on  the  woman's  lips. 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


A   PREACHER'S   LOVE  STORY. 

I. 

THE  train  drew  out  of  the  great  Van  Buren 
Street  depot  at  4.30  of  a  dark  day  in  late  Octo 
ber.  A  tall  young  man,  with  a  timid  look  in  his 
eyes,  was  almost  the  last  one  to  get  on,  and  his 
pale  face  wore  a  worried  look  as  he  dropped  into 
an  empty  seat  and  peered  out  at  the  squalid 
buildings  reeling  past  in  the  mist. 

The  buildings  grew  smaller,  and  vacant 
lots  appeared  stretching  away  in  flat  spaces, 
broken  here  and  there  by  ridges  of  ugly  squat 
little  tenement  blocks.  Over  this  landscape 
vast  banners  of  smoke  streamed,  magnified  by 
the  misty  rain  which  was  driven  in  from  the  lake. 

At  last  there  came  a  swell  of  land  clothed  on 
with  trees.  It  was  still  light  enough  to  see  they 
were  burr  oaks,  and  the  young  student's  heart 
thrilled  at  sight  of  them.  His  forehead  smoothed 
out,  and  his  eyes  grew  tender  with  boyish  mem 
ories. 

He  was  seated  thus,  with  head  leaning  against 
the  pane,  when  another  young  man  came  down 

5 


6  WA  YSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

the  aisle  from  the  smoking  car  and  took  a  seat 
beside  him  with  a  pleasant  word. 

He  was  a  handsome  young  fellow  of  twenty- 
three  or  four.  His  face  was  large  and  beard 
less,  and  he  had  beautiful  teeth.  He  had  a  bold 
and  keen  look,  in  spite  of  the  bang  of  yellow  hair 
which  hung  over  his  forehead. 

Some  commonplaces  passed  between  them, 
and  then  silence  fell  on  each.  The  conductor 
coming  through  the  car,  the  smooth-faced  young 
fellow  put  up  a  card  to  be  punched,  and  the 
student  handed  up  a  ticket,  simply  saying, 
"Kesota." 

After  a  decent  pause  the  younger  man  said 
"  Going  to  Kesota,  are  you  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  So  am  I.     I  live  there,  in  fact." 

"  Do  you  ?  Then  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  the 
name  of  your  County  Superintendent.  I'm  look 
ing  for  a  school."  He  smiled  frankly.  "I'm 
just  out  of  Jackson  University,  and " 

"  That  so  ?  I'm  an  Ann  Arbor  man  myself." 
They  took  a  moment  for  mutual  warming  up. 
"  Yes,  I  know  the  Superintendent.  Why  not 
come  right  up  to  my  boarding  place,  and  to 
morrow  I'll  introduce  you  ?  Looking  for  a  school, 
eh  ?  What  kind  of  a  school  ? " 

"  Oh,  a  village  school,  or  even  a  country 
school.  It's  too  late  to  get  a  good  place ;  but 
I've  been  sick,  and " 

"  Yes,  the  good  positions  are  all  snapped  up ; 
still,  you  might  by  accident  hit  on  something.  I 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  j 

know  Mott;  he'll  do  all  he  can  for  you.  By 
the  way,  my  name's  Allen." 

The  young  student  understood  this  hint  and 
spoke.  *'  Mine  is  Stacey." 

The  younger  man  mused  a  few  minutes,  as  if 
he  had  forgotten  his  new  acquaintance.  Sud 
denly  he  roused  up. 

"  Say,  would  you  take  a  country  school  sev 
eral  miles  out  ? " 

"I  think  I  would,  if  nothing  better  offered." 

"  Well,  out  in  my  neighborhood  they're  with 
out  a  teacher.  It's  six  miles  out,  and  it  isn't  a 
lovely  neighborhood.  However,  they  will  pay 
fifty  dollars  a  month;  that's  ten  dollars  extra  for 
the  scrimmages.  They  wanted  me  to  teach  this 
winter — my  sister  teaches  it  in  summer — but, 
great  Peter !  I  can't  waste  my  time  teaching 
school,  when  I  can  run  up  to  Chicago  and  take 
a  shy  at  the  pit  and  make  a  whole  term's  wages 
in  thirty  minutes." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Stacey. 

"Wheat  Exchange.  I've  got  a  lot  of  friends 
in  the  pit,  and  I  can  come  in  any  time  on  a 
little  deal.  I'm  no  Jim  Keene,  but  I  hope  to  get 
cash  enough  to  handle  five  thousand.  I  wanted 
the  old  gent  to  start  me  up  in  it,  but  he  said, 
'Nix  come  arouse.'  Fact  is,  I  dropped  the 
money  he  gave  me  to  go  through  college  with." 
He  smiled  at  Stacey's  disapproving  look.  "  Yes, 
indeedy  ;  there's  where  the  jar  came  into  our  ten 
der  relations.  Oh,  I  call  on  the  governor — al 
ways  when  I've  got  a  wad.  I  have  fun  with 


8  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

him."  He  smiled  brightly.  "Ask  him  if  he 
don't  need  a  little  cash  to  pay  for  hog-killin',  or 
something  like  that."  He  laughed  again.  "  No, 
I  didn't  graduate  at  Ann  Arbor.  Funny  how 
things  go,  ain't  it?  I  was  on  my  way  back  the 
third  year,  when  I  stopped  in  to  see  the  pit — it's 
one  o'  the  sights  of  Chicago,  you  know — and 
Billy  Krans  saw  me  looking  over  the  rail.  I 
went  in,  won,  and  then  took  a  flyer  on  Decem 
ber.  Come  a  big  slump,  and  I  failed  to  mate 
rialize  at  school." 

.  "  What  did  you  do  then  ? "  asked  Stacey,  to 
whom  this  did  not  seem  humorous. 

"  I  wrote  a  contrite  letter  to  the  governor, 
stating  case,  requesting  forgiveness — and  money. 
No  go !  Couldn't  raise  neither.  I  then  wrote 
casting  him  off.  *  You  are  no  longer  father  of 
mine.' "  He  smiled  again  radiantly.  "  You 
should  have  seen  me  the  next  time  I  went  home ! 
Plug  hat !  Imported  suit !  Gold  watch  !  Dia 
mond  shirt-stud  !  Cost  me  $200  to  paralyze  the 
general,  but  I  did  it.  My  glory  absolutely  turned 
him  white  as  a  sheet.  I  knew  what  he  thought, 
so  I  said  :  '  Perfectly  legitimate,  dad.  The  walls 
of  Joliet  are  not  gaping  for  me.'  That  about 
half  fetched  him — calling  him  dad,  I  mean — but 
he  can't  get  reconciled  to  my  business.  '  Too 
many  ups  and  downs,'  he  says.  Fact  is,  he  thinks 
it's  gambling,  and  I  don't  argue  the  case  with 
him.  I'm  on  my  way  home  now  to  stay  over 
Sunday." 

The  train  whistled,  and  Allen  looked  out  into 


A   PREACHER9 S  LOVE  STORY.  9 

the  darkness.  "We're  coming  to  the  crossing. 
Now,  I  can't  go  up  to  the  boarding  place  when 
you  do,  but  I'll  give  you  directions,  and  you  tell 
the  landlady  I  sent  you,  and  it'll  be  all  right. 
Allen,  you  remember — Herman  Allen." 

Following  directions,  Stacey  came  at  length 
to  a  two-story  frame  house  situated  on  the  edge 
of  the  bank,  with  its  back  to  the  river.  It  stood 
alone,  with  vacant  lots  all  about.  A  pleasant- 
faced  woman  answered  the  ring. 

He  explained  briefly.  "  How  do  you  do  ? 
I'm  a  teacher,  and  I'd  like  to  get  board  here  a 
few  days  while  passing  my  examinations.  Mr. 
Herman  Allen  sent  me." 

The  woman's  quick  eye  and  ear  were  satis 
fied.  "  All  right.  Walk  in,  sir.  I'm  pretty  full, 
but  I  expect  I  can  accommodate  you — if  you 
don't  mind  Mr.  Allen  for  a  roommate." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,"  he  said,  while  taking  off  his 
coat. 

"  Come  right  in  this  way.  Supper  will  be 
ready  soon." 

He  went  into  a  comfortable  sitting  room, 
where  a  huge  open  fire  of  soft  coal  was  blazing 
magnificently.  The  walls  were  papered  in  florid 
patterns,  and  several  enlarged  portraits  were  on 
the  walls.  The  fire  was  the  really  great  adorn 
ment;  all  else  was  cheap,  and  some  of  it  was 
tawdry. 

Stacey  spread  his  thin  hands  to  the  blaze, 
while  the  landlady  sat  down  a  moment,  out  of 
politeness,  to  chat,  scanning  him  keenly.  She 


I0  WAYSIDE   CO  UK  T SHIPS. 

was  a  handsome  woman,  strong,  well  rounded, 
about  forty  years  of  age,  with  quick  gray  eyes 
and  a  clean,  firm-lipped  mouth. 

*'  Did  you  just  get  in  ?  " 

"Yes.  I've  been  on  the  road  all  day,"  he 
said,  on  an  impulse  of  communication.  "  In 
deed,  I'm  just  out  of  college." 

"  Is  that  so  ? "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mills,  stopping 
her  rocking  in  an  access  of  interest.  "  What 
college  ? " 

"  Jackson  University.  I've  been  sick,  and 
only  came  West " 

There  came  a  look  into  her  face  that  trans 
formed  and  transfigured  her.  "J/yboywas  in 
Ann  Arbor.  He  was  killed  on  the  train  on  his 
way  home  one  day."  She  stopped,  for  fear  of 
breaking  into  a  quaver,  and  smiled  brightly. 
"  That's  why  I  always  like  college  boys.  They 
all  stop  here  with  me."  She  rose  hastily.  "  Well, 
you'll  excuse  me,  won't  you,  and  I'll  go  an'  'tend 
to  supper." 

There  was  a  great  deal  that  was  feminine  in 
Stacey,  and  he  felt  at  once  the  pathos  of  the 
woman's  life.  He  looked  a  refined,  studious, 
rather  delicate  young  man,  as  he  sat  low  in  his 
chair  and  observed  the  light  and  heat  of  the  fire. 
His  large  head  looked  to  be  full  of  learning,  and 
his  dark  eyes  were  deep  with  religious  fervor. 

Several  young  women  entered,  and  the  room 
was  filled  with  clatter  of  tongues.  Herman  came 
in  a  few  moments  later,  his  face  in  a  girlish  glow 
of  color.  Everybody  rushed  at  him  with  loud 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  n 

outcry.  He  was  evidently  a  great  favorite.  He 
threw  his  arms  about  Mrs.  Mills,  giving  her  a 
hearty  hug.  The  girls  pretended  to  be  shocked 
when  he  reached  out  for  them,  but  they  were  not 
afraid  of  him.  They  hung  on  his  arms  and  be 
sieged  him  with  questions  till  he  cried  out,  in 
jolly  perplexity: 

"  Girls,  girls  !     This  will  never  do." 

Mrs.  Mills  brushed  out  his  damp  yellow  curls 
with  her  hands.  "  You're  all  wet." 

"  Girls,  if  you'll  let  me  sit  down,  I'll  take  one 
on  each  knee,"  he  said,  pleadingly,  and  they  re 
leased  him. 

Stacey  grew  red  with  sympathetic  embarrass 
ment,  and  shrank  away  into  a  corner. 

"  Go  get  supper  ready,"  commanded  Her 
man.  And  it  was  only  after  they  left  that  he 
said  to  Stacey:  "Oh,  you  found  your  way  all 
right.  I  didn't  see  you — those  confounded  girls 
bother  me  so."  He  took  a  seat  by  the  fire  and 
surveyed  his  wet  shoes.  "  I  took  a  run  up  to 
Mott's  house — only  a  half  block  out  o'  the  way. 
He  said  they'd  be  tickled  to  have  you  at  Cyene. 
By  the  way,  you're  a  theolog,  aren't  you?" 
Wallace  nodded,  and  Herman  went  on  :  "So  I 
told  Mott.  He  said  you  might  work  up  a  society 
out  there  at  Cyene." 

"  Is  there  a  church  there  ? " 

"  Used  to  be,  but — say,  I  tell  you  what  you 
do :  you  go  out  with  me  to-morrow,  and  I'll  give 
you  the  whole  history." 

The  ringing  of  the  bell  took  them  out  into  the 


12  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

cheerful  dining  room  in  a  good-natured  scram 
ble.  Mrs.  Mills  put  Stacey  at  one  end  of  the 
table,  near  a  young  woman  who  looked  like  a 
teacher,  and  he  had  full  sweep  of  the  table, 
which  was  surrounded  by  bright  and  sunny  faces. 
The  station  hand  was  there,  and  a  couple  of 
grocery  clerks,  and  a  brakeman  sat  at  Stacey's 
right  hand.  The  table  was  very  merry.  They 
called  each  other  by  their  Christian  names,  and 
there  was  very  obvious  courtship  on  the  part  of 
several  young  couples. 

Stacey  escaped  from  the  table  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  returned  to  his  seat  beside  the  fire. 
He  was  young  enough  to  enjoy  the  chatter  of 
the  girls,  but  his  timidity  made  him  glad  they 
paid  so  little  attention  to  him.  The  rain  had 
changed  to  sleet  outside,  and  hammered  at  the 
window  viciously,  but  the  blazing  fire  and  the 
romping  young  people  set  it  at  defiance.  The 
landlady  came  to  the  door  of  the  dining  room, 
dish  and  cloth  in  hand,  to  share  in  each  outburst 
of  laughter,  and  not  infrequently  the  hired  girl 
peered  over  her  shoulder  with  a  broad  smile  on 
her  face.  A  little  later,  having  finished  their 
work,  they  both  came  in  and  took  active  part  in 
the  light-hearted  fun. 

Herman  and  one  of  the  girls  were  having  a 
great  struggle  over  some  trifle  he  had  snatched 
from  her  hand,  and  the  rest  stood  about  laugh 
ing  to  see  her  desperate  attempts  to  recover  it. 
This  was  a  familiar  form  of  courtship  in  Kesota, 
and  an  evening  filled  with  such  romping  was 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  13 

considered  a  "  cracking  good  time."  After  the 
girl,  red  and  disheveled,  had  given  up,  Herman 
sat  down  at  the  organ,  and  they  all  sang  Moody 
and  Sankey  hymns,  negro  melodies,  and  college 
songs  till  nine  o'clock.  Then  Mrs.  Mills  called, 
"Come,  now,  boys  and  girls,"  and  they  all  said 
good  night,  like  obedient  children. 

Herman  and  Wallace  went  up  to  their  bed 
room  together. 

"  Say,  Stacey,  have  you  got  a  policy  ? "  Wal 
lace  shook  his  head.  "And  don't  want  any,  I 
suppose.  Well,  I  just  asked  you  as  a  matter  of 
form.  You  see,"  he  went  on,  winking  at  Wallace 
comically,  "nominally  I'm  an  insurance  agent, 
but  practically  I'm  a  *  lamb  ' — but  I  get  a  mouth 
ful  o'  fur  myself  occasionally.  What  I'm  work 
ing  for  is  to  get  on  that  Wheat  Exchange.  That's 
where  you  get  life !  I'd  rather  be  an  established 
broker  in  that  howling  mob  than  go  to  Con 
gress." 

Suddenly  a  thought  struck  him.  He  rose  on 
his  elbow  in  bed  and  looked  at  Wallace  just  as 
he  rose  from  a  silent  prayer.  Catching  his  eye, 
Herman  said : 

"  Say !  why  didn't  you  shout  ?  I  forgot  all 
about  it — I  mean  your  profession." 

Wallace  crept  into  bed  beside  his  communi 
cative  bedfellow  in  silence.  He  didn't  know  how 
to  deal  with  such  spirits. 

"  Say  !  "  called  Herman  suddenly,  as  they 
were  about  to  go  to  sleep,  "  you  ain't  got  no  pic 
nic,  old  man." 


I4  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Wait  till  you  see  Cyene  Church.  Oh,  it's  a 
daisy  snarl." 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  me  about  it." 

"  Oh,  it's  quiet  now.  The  calmness  of  death," 
said  Herman.  "  Well,  you  see,  it  came  this  way. 
The  church  is  made  up  of  Baptists  and  Meth 
odists,  and  the  Methodists  wanted  an  organ, 
because,  you  understand,  father  was  the  head 
center,  and  Mattie  is  the  only  girl  among  the 
Methodists  who  can  play.  The  old  man  has  got 
a  head  like  a  mule.  He  can't  be  switched  off, 
once  he  makes  up  his  mind.  Deacon  Marsden 
he  don't  believe  in  anything  above  tuning  forks, 
and  he's  tighter'n  the  bark  on  a  bulldog.  He 
stood  out  like  a  sore  thumb,  and  dad  wouldn't 
give  an  inch. 

"You  see,  they  held  meetings  every  other 
Sunday.  So  dad  worked  up  the  organ  business 
and  got  one,  and  then  locked  it  up  when  the 
Baptists  held  their  services.  Well,  it  went  from 
bad  to  worse.  They  didn't  speak  as  they  passed 
by — that  is,  the  old  folks;  we  young  folks  didn't 
care  a  continental  whether  school  kept  or  not. 
Well,  upshot  is,  the  church  died  out.  The  wind 
blew  the  horse  sheds  down,  and  there  they  lie — 
and  the  church  is  standing  there  empty  as  an — 

old  boot — and "  He  grew  too  sleepy  to 

finish. 

Suddenly  a  comical  idea  roused  him  again. 
"  Say,  Stacey — by  Jinks  ! — are  you  a  Baptist  ? " 

"Yes." 


A    PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  15 

"Oh,  Peter!  ain't  that  lovely?"  He  chuc 
kled  shamelessly,  and  went  off  to  sleep  without 
another  word. 


II. 

HERMAN  was  still  sleeping  when  Stacey  rose 
and  dressed  and  went  down  to  breakfast.  Mrs. 
Mills  defended  Herman  against  the  charge  of 
laziness:  "He's  probably  been  out  late  all  the 
week." 

Stacey  found  Mott  in  the  county  courthouse, 
and  a  perfunctory  examination  soon  put  him  in 
possession  of  a  certificate.  There  was  no  ques 
tion  of  his  attainments. 

Herman  met  him  at  dinner-time. 

"  Well,  elder,  I'm  going  down  to  get  a  rig  to 
go  out  home  in.  It's  colder'n  a  blue  whetstone, 
so  put  on  all  the  clothes  you've  got.  Gimme 
your  check,  and  I'll  get  your  traps.  Have  you 
seen  Mott  ? " 

«  Yes." 

"Well,  then,  everything's  all  fixed." 

He  turned  up  about  three  o'clock,  seated  on 
the  spring  seat  of  a  lumber  wagon  beside  a 
woman,  who  drove  the  powerful  team.  Whether 
she  was  young  or  old  could  not  be  told  through 
her  wraps.  She  wore  a  cap  and  a  thick,  faded 
cloak. 

Mrs.  Mills  hurried  to  the  door.  "  Why,  Mattie 
AllenJ  What  you  doin'  out  such  a  day  as  this  ? 
Come  in  here  instanter!" 


!6  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

"  Can't  stop,"  called  a  clear,  boyish  voice. 
"Too  late." 

"Well,  land  o'  stars  !— you'll  freeze." 

When  Wallace  reached  the  wagon  side,  Her 
man  said,  "  My  sister,  Stacey." 

The  girl  slipped  her  strong  brown  hand  out 
of  her  huge  glove  and  gave  him  a  friendly  grip. 
"  Get  right  in,"  she  said.  "  Herman,  you're  go- 
.ing  to  stand  up  behind." 

Herman  appealed  to  Mrs.  Mills  for  sympa 
thy.  "  This  is  what  comes  of  having  plebeian 
connections." 

"Oh,  dry  up,"  laughed  the  girl,  "or  I'll  make 
you  drive." 

Stacey  scrambled  in  awkwardly  beside  her. 
She  was  not  at  all  embarrassed,  apparently. 

"  Tuck  yourself  in  tight.  It's  mighty  cold  on 
the  prairie." 

"Why  didn't  you  come  down  with  the  ba- 
roosh  ?  "  grumbled  Herman. 

"  Well,  the  corn  was  contracted  for,  and  father 
wasn't  able  to  come — he  had  another  attack  of 
neuralgia  last  night  after  he  got  the  corn  loaded 
— so  I  had  to  come." 

"Sha'n't  I  drive  for  you?"  asked  Wallace. 

"  No,  thank  you.  You'll  have  all  you  can 
do  to  keep  from  freezing."  She  looked  at  his 
thin  coat  and  worn  gloves  with  keen  eyes.  He 
could  see  only  her  pink  cheeks,  strong  nose,  and 
dark,  smiling  eyes. 

It  was  one  of  those  terrible  Illinois  days 
when  the  temperature  drops  suddenly  to  zero, 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  \j 

and  the  churned  mud  of  the  highways  hardens 
into  a  sort  of  scoriae  rock,  which  cripples  the 
horses  and  sends  the  heavy  wagons  booming 
and  thundering  along  like  mad  things.  The 
wind  was  keen  and  terrible  as  a  saw-bladed 
sword,  and  smote  incessantly.  The  desolate 
sky  was  one  thick,  impenetrable  mass  of  swiftly 
flying  clouds.  When  they  swung  out  upon  the 
long  pike  leading  due  north,  Wallace  drew  his 
breath  with  a  gasp,  and  bent  his  head  to  the 
wind. 

"  Pretty  strong,  isn't  it?"  shouted  Mattie. 

"  Oh,  the  farmer's  life  is  the  life  for  me,  tra- 
la !  "  sang  Herman,  from  his  shelter  behind  the 
seat. 

Mattie  turned.  "  What  do  you  think  of  Pe 
nelope  this  month  ?  " 

"  She's  a-gitten  there,"  said  Herman,  pound 
ing  his  shoe  heels. 

"  She's  too  smart  for  young  Corey.  She 
ought  to  marry  a  man  like  Bromfield.  My ! 
wouldn't  they  talk  ?" 

"  Did  y'  get  the  second  bundle  of  magazines 
last  Saturday  ? " 

"Yes;  and  dad  found  something  in  the  Popu 
lar  Science  that  made  him  mad,  and  he  burned 
it." 

"Did  'e?  Tum-la-la!  Oh,  the  farmer's  life 
for  me !  " 

"Are  you  cold?"  she  asked  Wallace. 

He  turned  a  purple  face  upon  her.  "  No — 
not  much." 


1 8  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

"  I  guess  you  better  slip  right  down  under 
the  blankets,"  she  advised. 

The  wind  blew  gray  out  of  the  north — a  wild 
blast  which  stopped  the  young  student's  blood  in 
his  veins.  He  hated  to  give  up,  but  he  could  no 
longer  hold  the  blankets  up  over  his  knees,  so  he 
slipped  down  into  the  corner  of  the  box,  with 
his  back  to  the  wind,  with  the  blankets  drawn 
over  his  head. 

The  powerful  girl  slapped  the  reins  down  on 
the  backs  of  the  snorting  horses,  and  encouraged 
them  with  shouts  like  a  man:  "Get  out  o'  this, 
Dan!  Hup  there,  Nellie  !" 

The  wagon  boomed  and  rattled.  The  floor 
of  the  box  seemed  beaten  with  a  maul.  The 
glimpses  Wallace  had  of  the  land  appalled  him, 
it  was  so  flat  and  gray  and  bare.  The  houses 
seemed  poor,  and  drain-pipe  scattered  about  told 
how  wet  it  all  was. 

Herman  sang  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and 
danced,  and  pounded  his  feet  against  the  wagon 
box.  "  This  ends  it !  If  I  can't  come  home 
without  freezing  to  death,  I  don't  come.  I 
should  have  hired  a  rig,  irrespective  of  you— — " 

The  girl  laughed.  "  Oh,  you're  getting  thin- 
blooded,  Herman.  Life  in  the  city  has  taken  the 
starch  all  out  of  you." 

"  Better  grow  limp  in  a  great  city  than  freeze 
stiff  in  the  country,"  he  replied. 

An  hour's  ride  brought  them  into  a  yard  be 
fore  a  large  gray-white  frame  house. 

Herman  sprang  out  to  meet  a  tall  old  man 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  ig 

with  head  muffled  up.  "  Hello,  dad  !  Take  the 
team.  We're  just  naturally  froze  solid — at 
least  I  am.  This  is  Mr.  Stacey,  the  new 
teacher." 

"  How  de  do  ?     Run  in  ;  I'll  take  the  horses." 

Herman  and  Wallace  stumbled  toward  the 
house,  stiff  and  bent. 

Herman  flung  his  arms  about  a  tall  woman 
in  the  kitchen  door.  "  Hello,  muz  !  "  he  said. 
"  This  is  Mr.  Stacey,  the  new  teacher." 

"  Draw  up  to  the  fire,  sir.  Herman,  take  his 
hat  and  coat." 

Mattie  came  in  soon  with  a  boyish  rush.  She 
was  gleeful  as  a  happy  babe.  She  unwound  the 
scarf  from  her  head  and  neck,  and  hung  up  her 
cap  and  .cloak  like  a  man,  but  she  gave  her  hair 
a  little  touch  of  feminine  care,  and  came  for 
ward  with  both  palms  pressed  to  her  burning 
cheeks. 

"  Did  you  suffer,  child  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Allen. 

"  No  ;  I  enjoyed  it." 

Herman  looked  at  Stacey.  "  I  believe  on  my 
life  she  did." 

"  Oh,  it's  fun.  I  don't  get  a  chance  to  do 
anything  so  exciting  very  often." 

Herman  clicked  his  tongue.  "  Exciting  ? 
Well,  well ! " 

"  You  must  remember  things  are  slower  here," 
Mattie  explained. 

She  came  to  light  much  younger  than  Stacey 
thought  her.  She  was  not  eighteen,  but  her  sup 
ple  and  splendid  figure  was  fully  matured.  Her 


20  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

hair  hung  down  her  back  in  a  braid,  which  gave 
a  subtle  touch  of  childishness  to  her. 

"  Sis,  you're  still  a-growin',"  Herman  said, 
as  he  put  his  arm  around  her  waist  and  looked 
up  at  her. 

She  seemed  to  realize  for  the  first  time  that 
Stacey  was  a  young  man,  and  her  eyes  fell. 

"Well,  now,  set  up  the  chairs,  child,"  said 
Mrs.  Allen. 

When  the  young  teacher  returned  from  his 
cold  spare  room  off  the  parlor  the  family  sat 
waiting  for  him.  They  all  drew  up  noisily,  and 
Allen  said : 

"  Ask  the  blessing,  sir  ? " 

Wallace  said  grace. 

As  Allen  passed  the  potatoes  he  continued : 

"  My  son  tells  me  you  are  a  minister  of  the 
gospel." 

"  I  have  studied  for  it." 

"  What  denomination  ?  " 

"  Tut,  tut !  "  warned  Herman.  "  Don't  start 
any  theological  rabbits  to-night,  dad.  With  jaw 
swelled  up  you  won't  be  able  to  hold  your  own." 

*'  I'm  a  Baptist,"  Stacey  answered. 

The  old  man's  face  grew  grim.  It  had  been 
ludicrous  before  with  its  swollen  jaw.  "  Bap 
tist  ?"  The  old  man  turned  to  his  son,  whose 
smile  angered  him.  "  Didn't  you  know  no  more'n 
to  bring  a  Baptist  preacher  into  this  house?" 

"  There,  there,  father !  "  began  the  wife. 

"  Be  quiet.     I'm  boss  of  this  shanty." 

Herman  struck  in :  "  Don't  make  a  show  of 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  21 

yourself,  old  man.  Don't  mind  the  old  gent, 
Stacey  ;  he's  mumpy  to-day,  anyhow." 

Stacey  rose.  "I  guess  I — I'd  better  not 
stay— I " 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  Sit  down,  Stacey.  It's  all 
right.  The  old  man's  a  little  acid  at  me.  He 
doesn't  mean  it." 

Stacey  got  his  coat  and  hat.  His  heart  was 
swollen  with  indignation.  He  felt  as  if  some 
thing  fine  were  lost  to  him,  and  the  cold  outside 
was  so  desolate  now. 

Mrs.  Allen  was  in  tears ;  but  the  old  man, 
having  taken  his  stand,  was  going  to  keep  it. 

Herman  lost  his  temper  a  little.  "Well,  dad, 
you're  a  little  the  cussedest  Christian  I  ever 
knew.  Stacey,  sit  down.  Don't  you  be  a  fool 
just  because  he  is " 

Stacey  was  buttoning  his  coat  with  trembling 
hands,  when  Martha  went  up  to  him. 

"  Don't  go,"  she  said.  "  Father's  sick  and 
cross.  He'll  be  sorry  for  this  to-morrow." 

Wallace  looked  into  her  frank,  kindly  eyes 
and  hesitated. 

Herman  said :  "  Dad,  you  are  a  lovely  fol 
lower  of  Christ.  You'll  apologize  for  this,  or 
I'll  never  set  foot  on  your  threshold  again." 

Stacey  still  hesitated.  He  was  hurt  and  angry, 
but  being  naturally  a  sweet  and  gentle  nature,  he 
grew  sad,  and,  yielding  to  the  pressure  of  the 
girl's  hand  on  his  arm,  he  began  to  unbutton  his 
overcoat. 

She  helped  him  off  with  it,  and  hung  it  back 


22  WA  YSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

on  the  nail.  She  did  not  show  tears,  but  her 
face  was  unwontedly  grave. 

They  sat  at  the  table  again,  and  Herman  and 
Mattie  tried  to  restore  something  of  the  bright 
ness  which  had  been  lost.  Allen  sat  grimly  eat 
ing,  his  chin  pushed  down  like  a  hog's  snout. 

After  supper,  as  his  father  was  about  retiring 
to  his  bedroom,  Herman  fixed  his  bright  eyes  on 
him,  and  something  very  hard  and  masterful 
came  into  his  boyish  face. 

"  Old  man — you  and  I  haven't  had  a  settle 
ment  on  this  thing  yet.  I'll  see  you  later." 

Allen  shrank  before  his  son's  look,  but  shuf 
fled  sullenly  off  without  uttering  a  word. 

Herman  turned  to  Wallace.  "  Stacey,  I  want 
to  beg  your  pardon  for  getting  you  into  this 
scrape.  I  didn't  suppose  the  old  gentleman  would 
act  like  that.  The  older  he  gets,  the  more  his 
New  Hampshire  granite  shows.  I  hope  you 
won't  lay  it  up  against  me." 

Wallace  was  too  conscientious  to  say  he 
didn't  mind  it,  but  he  took  Herman's  hand  in  a 
quick  clasp. 

"  Let's  have  a  song,"  proposed  Herman. 
"  Music  hath  charms  to  soothe  the  savage 
breast,  to  charm  a  rock,  and  split  a  cabbage." 

They  went  into  the  best  room,  where  a  fire 
was  blazing,  and  Mattie  and  Herman  sang  hymns 
and  old-fashioned  love  songs  and  college  glees 
wonderfully  intermingled.  They  ended  by  sing 
ing  "  Lorena,"  a  wailing,  supersentimental  love 
song  current  in  war  times,  and  when  they  looked 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  2$ 

around  there  was  a  lofty  look  on  the  face  of  the 
young  preacher — a  look  of  exaltation,  of  conse 
cration  and  resolve. 


III. 

The  next  morning,  at  breakfast,  Herman  said, 
as  he  seized  a  hot  biscuit,  "  We'll  dispense  with 
grace  this  morning,  and  till  after  the  war  is  over." 
But  Wallace  blessed  his  bread  in  a  silent  prayer, 
and  Mattie  thought  it  very  brave  of  him  to 
do  so. 

Herman  was  full  of  mockery.  "  The  sun 
rises  just  the  same,  whether  it's  *  sprinkling  '  or 
*  immersion.'  It's  lucky  Nature  don't  take  a 
hand  in  these  theological  contests — she  doesn't 
even  referee  the  scrap.  She  never  seems  to  care 
whether  you  are  sparring  for  points  or  fighting  to 
a  finish.  What  you  theologic  middle-weights  are 
really  fighting  for  I  can't  see — and  I  don't  care, 
till  you  fall  over  the  ropes  on  to  my  corns." 

Stacey  listened  in  a  daze  to  Herman's  tirade. 
He  knew  it  was  addressed  to  Allen,  and  that  it 
deprecated  war,  and  that  it  was  mocking.  The 
fresh  face  and  smiling  lips  of  the  young  girl 
seemed  to  put  Herman's  voice  very  far  away.  It 
was  such  a  beautiful  thing  to  sit  at  table  with  a 
lovely  girl. 

After  breakfast  he  put  on  his  cap  and  coat 
and  went  out  into  the  clear,  cold  November  air. 
All  about  him  the  prairie  extended,  marked  with 
farmhouses  and  lined  with  leafless  hedges.  Arti- 


24  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

ficial  groves  surrounded  each  homestead,  reliev 
ing  the  desolateness  of  the  fields. 

Down  the  road  he  saw  the  spire  of  a  small 
white  church,  and  he  walked  briskly  toward  it, 
Herman's  description  in  his  mind. 

As  he  came  near  he  saw  the  ruined  sheds,  the 
rotting  porch,  and  the  windows  boarded  up,  and 
his  face  grew  sad.  He  tried  one  of  the  doors, 
and  found  it  open.  Some  tramp  had  broken  the 
lock.  The  inside  was  even  more  desolate  than 
the  outside.  It  was  littered  with  rotting  straw 
and  plum  stones  and  melon  seeds.  Obscene 
words  were  scrawled  on  the  walls,  and  even  on 
the  pulpit  itself. 

Taken  altogether  it  was  an  appalling  picture 
to  the  young  servant  of  the  Man  of  Galilee,  a 
blunt  reminder  of  the  ferocity  and  depravity  of 
man. 

As  he  pondered  the  fire  burned,  and  there 
rose  again  the  flame  of  his  resolution.  He  lifted 
his  face  and  prayed  that  he  might  be  the  one 
to  bring  these  people  into  the  living  union  of  the 
Church  of  Christ. 

His  blood  set  toward  his  heart  with  tremu 
lous  action.  His  eyes  glowed  with  zeal  like  that 
of  the  Middle  Ages.  He  saw  the  people  united 
once  more  in  this  desecrated  hall.  He  heard  the 
bells  ringing,  the  sound  of  song,  the  smile  of 
peaceful  old  faces,  and  voices  of  love  and  fel 
lowship  filling  the  anterooms  where  hate  now 
scrawled  hideous  blasphemy  against  woman  and 
against  God. 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  2$ 

As  he  sat  there  Herman  came  in,  his  keen 
eyes  seeking  out  every  stain  and  evidence  of 
vandalism. 

"  Cheerful  prospect — isn't  it  ?  " 

Wallace  looked  up  with  the  blaze  of  his  reso 
lution  still  in  his  eyes.  His  pale  face  was  sweet 
and  solemn. 

"  Oh,  how  these  people  need  Christ !  " 

Herman  turned  away.  "  They  need  killing — 
about  two  dozen  of  'em.  I'd  like  to  have  the 
job  of  indicating  which  ones;  I  wouldn't  miss 
the  old  man,  you  bet ! "  he  said,  with  blasphe 
mous  audacity. 

Wallace  was  helpless  in  the  face  of  such  reck 
less  thought,  and  so  sat  looking  at  the  handsome 
young  fellow  as  he  walked  about. 

"Well,  now,  Stacey,  I  guess  you'll  need  to 
move.  I  had  another  session  with  the  old  man, 
but  he  won't  give  in,  so  I'm  off  for  Chicago. 
Mother's  brother,  George  Chapman,  who  lives 
about  as  near  the  schoolhouse  on  the  other  side, 
will  take  you  in.  I  guess  we'd  better  go  right 
down  now  and  see  about  it.  I've  said  good-by 
to  the  old  man — for  good  this  time;  we  didn't 
shake  hands  either,"  he  said,  as  they  walked 
down  the  road  together.  He  was  very  stern 
and  hard.  Something  of  the  father  was  hidden 
under  his  laughing  exterior. 

Stacey  regretted  deeply  the  necessity  which 

drove  him  out  of  Allen's  house.     Mrs.  Allen  and 

Mattie  had  appealed  to  him  very  strongly.     For 

years  he  had  lived  far  from  young  women,  and 

3 


26  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

there  was  a  magical  power  in  the  intimate  home 
actions  of  this  young  girl.  Her  bare  head,  with 
simple  arrangement  of  hair,  someway  seemed 
the  most  beautiful  thing  he  had  ever  seen. 

He  thought  of  her  as  he  sat  at  the  table  with 
George  and  his  aged  mother.  They  lived  alone, 
and  their  lives  were  curiously  silent.  Once  in 
a  while  a  low-voiced  question,  and  that  was 
all. 

George  read  the  Popular  Science,  Harper's 
Monthly  Magazine,  and  the  Open  Court,  and 
brooded  over  them  with  slow  intellectual  move 
ment.  It  was  wonderful  the  amount  of  infor 
mation  he  secreted  from  these  periodicals.  He 
was  better  informed  than  many  college  grad 
uates. 

He  had  little  curiosity  about  the  young 
stranger.  He  understood  he  was  to  teach  the 
school,  and  he  did  not  go  further  in  inquiry. 

He  tried  Wallace  once  or  twice  on  the  latest 
discoveries  of  John  Fiske  and  Edison,  and  then 
gave  him  up  and  retired  to  his  seat  beside  the 
sitting-room  stove. 

On  the  following  Monday  morning  school  be 
gan,  and  as  Wallace  took  his  way  down  the  lane 
the  wrecked  church  came  again  to  his  eyes.  He 
walked  past  it  with  slow  feet.  His  was  a  deeply 
religious  nature,  one  that  sorrowed  easily  over 
sin.  Suffering  of  the  poor  did  not  trouble  him  ; 
hunger  seemed  a  little  thing  beside  losing  one's 
everlasting  soul.  Therefore  to  come  from  his 
studies  upon  such  a  monument  of  human  de- 


A    PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  2? 

pravity  as  this  rotting  church  was  to  receive  a 
shock  and  to  hear  a  call  to  action. 

Approaching  the  schoolhouse,  his  thought 
took  a  turn  toward  the  scholars  and  toward 
Mattie.  He  had  forgotten  to  ask  'her  if  she  in 
tended  to  be  one  of  his  pupils. 

There  were  several  children  already  gathered 
at  the  schoolhouse  door  as  he  came  up.  It  was  all 
very  American — the  boxlike  house  of  white,  the 
slender  teacher  approaching,  the  roughly  clad 
urchins  waiting. 

He  said,  "  Good  morning,  scholars." 

They  chorused  a  queer  croak  in  reply  — 
hesitating,  inarticulate,  shy.  He  unlocked  the 
door  and  entered  the  cold,  bare  room — familiar, 
unlovely,  with  a  certain  power  of  primitive  asso 
ciations.  In  such  a  room  he  had  studied  his 
primer  and  his  Ray's  Arithmetic.  In  such  a 
room  he  had  made  gradual  recession  from  the 
smallest  front  seat  to  the  back  wall  seat ;  and 
from  one  side  of  such  a  room  to  the  other  he 
had  furtively  worshiped  a  graceful  girlish  head. 

He  allowed  himself  but  a  moment  of  such 
dreaming,  and  then  he  assumed  command,  and 
with  his  ready  helpers  a  fire  was  soon  started. 
Other  children  came  in,  timorous  as  rabbits,  slip 
ping  by  with  one  eye  fixed  on  him  like  scared 
chickens.  They  pre-empted  their  seats  by  put 
ting  down  books  and  slates,  and  there  arose  sly 
wars  for  possession,  which  he  felt  in  curious 
amusement — it  was  so  like  his  own  life  at  that 
age. 


28  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

He  assumed  command  as  nearly  in  the  man 
ner  of  the  old-time  teachers  as  he  could  recall, 
and  the  work  of  his  teaching  was  begun.  The 
day  passed  quickly,  and  as  he  walked  home 
ward  again  there  stood  that  rotting  church,  and 
in  his  mind  there  rose  a  surging  emotion  larger 
than  he  could  himself  comprehend — a  desire  to 
rebuild  it  by  uniting  the  warring  factions,  of 
whose  lack  of  Christianity  it  was  fatal  witness. 


IV. 

Now  this  mystical  thing  happened.  As  this 
son  of  a  line  of  preachers  brooded  on  this  un 
lovely  strife  among  men,  he  lost  the  equipoise 
of  the  scholar  and  student  of  modern  history. 
He  grew  narrower  and  more  intense.  The  bur 
den  of  his  responsibility  as  a  preacher  of  Christ 
grew  daily  more  insupportable. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  week  he  announced 
preaching  in  the  schoolhouse  on  Sunday  aft 
ernoon,  and  at  the  hour  set  he  found  the 
room  crowded  with  people  of  all  ages  and 
sorts. 

His  heart  grew  heavy  as  he  looked  out  over 
the  room  on  women  nursing  querulous  children, 
on  the  grizzled  faces  of  grim-looking  men,  who 
studied  him  with  keen,  unsympathetic  eyes.  He 
had  hard,  unfriendly  material  to  work  with. 
There  were  but  few  of  the  opposite  camp  pres 
ent,  while  the  Baptist  leaders  were  all  there, 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  29 

with  more  curiosity  than  sympathy  in  their 
faces. 

They  exulted  to  think  the  next  preacher  to 
come  among  them  as  an  evangelist  should  be  a 
Baptist. 

After  the  singing,  which  would  have  dribbled 
away  into  failure  but  for  Mattie,  Wallace  rose, 
looking  very  white  and  weak,  and  began  his 
prayer.  Some  of  the  boys  laughed  when  his 
voice  stuck  in  his  throat,  but  he  went  on  to  the 
end  of  an  earnest  supplication,  feeling  he  had 
not  touched  them  at  all. 

While  they  sang  again,  he  sat  looking  down 
at  them  with  dry  throat  and  staring  eyes.  They 
seemed  so  hard,  so  unchristianlike.  What  could 
he  say  to  them  ?  He  saw  Mattie  looking  at  him, 
and  on  the  front  seat  sat  three  beautiful  little 
girls  huddled  together  with  hands  clasped ;  they 
were  inexpressibly  dainty  by  contrast.  As  he 
looked  at  them  the  thought  came  to  him,  What 
is  the  goodness  of  a  girl — of  a  child  ?  It  is  not 
partisan — it  is  not  of  creeds,  of  articles — it  is 
goodness  of  thought,  of  deeds.  His  face  lighted 
up  with  the  inward  feeling  of  this  idea,  and  he 
rose  resolutely. 

"  Friends,  with  the  help  of  Christ  I  am  come 
among  you  to  do  you  good.  I  shall  hold  meet 
ings  each  night  here  in  the  schoolhouse  until  we 
can  unite  and  rebuild  the  church  again.  Let 
me  say  now,  friends,  that  I  was  educated  a  Bap 
tist.  My  father  was  a  faithful  worker  in  the 
Baptist  Church,  and  so  was  his  father  before  him. 


30  WAYSIDE  COURTSHIPS. 

I  was  educated  in  a  Baptist  college,  and  I  came 
here  hoping  to  build  up  a  Baptist  Church."  He 
paused. 

"But  I  see  my  mistake.  I  am  here  to  build 
up  a  Church  of  Christ,  of  good  deeds  and  charity 
and  peace,  and  so  I  here  say  I  am  no  longer  a 
Baptist  or  Methodist.  I  am  only  a  preacher,  and 
I  will  not  rest  until  I  rebuild  the  church  which 
stands  rotting  away  there."  His  voice  rang 
with  intellectual  determination  as  he  uttered 
those  words. 

The  people  listened.  There  was  no  move 
ment  now.  Even  the  babies  seemed  to  feel  the 
need  of  being  silent.  When  he  began  again  it 
was  to  describe  that  hideous  wreck.  He  deline 
ated  the  falling  plaster,  the  litter  around  the 
pulpit,  the  profanation  of  the  walls.  "  It  is  a 
symbol  of  your  sinful  hearts,"  he  cried. 

Much  more  he  said,  carried  out  of  himself  by 
his  passion.  It  was  as  if  the  repentant  spirit  of 
his  denominational  fathers  were  speaking  through 
him;  and  yet  he  was  not  so  impassioned  that  he 
did  not  see,  or  at  least  feel,  the  eyes  of  the 
strong  young  girl  fixed  upon  him;  his  resolution 
he  spoke  looking  at  her,  and  a  swift  response 
seemed  to  leap  from  her  eyes. 

When  it  was  over,  some  of  the  Methodists 
and  one  of  the  Baptists  came  up  to  shake  hands 
with  him,  awkwardly  wordless,  and  the  pressure 
of  their  hands  helped  him.  Many  of  the  Baptist 
brethren  slipped  outside  to  discuss  the  matter. 
Some  were  indignant,  others  much  more  moved. 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  $i 

Allen  went  by  him  with  an  audible  grunt  of 
derision,  and  there  was  a  dark  scowl  on  his  face, 
but  Mattie  smiled  at  him,  with  tears  still  in  her 
eyes.  She  had  been  touched  by  his  vibrant 
voice;  she  had  no  sins  to  repent  of. 

The  skeptics  of  the  neighborhood  were  quite 
generally  sympathetic.  "  You've  struck  the  right 
trail  now,  parson,"  said  Chapman,  as  they  walked 
homeward  together.  "  The  days  of  the  old-time 
denominationalism  are  about  played  out." 

But  the  young  preacher  was  not  so  sure  of  it 
— now  that  his  inspiration  was  gone.  He  remem 
bered  his  debt  to  his  college,  to  his  father,  to  the 
denomination,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  set  aside 
the  grip  of  such  memories. 

He  sat  late  revolving  the  whole  situation  in 
his  mind.  When  he  went  to  bed  it  was  still  with 
him,  and  involved  itself  with  his  dreams  ;  but 
always  the  young  girl  smiled  upon  him  with  sym 
pathetic  eyes  and  told  him  to  go  on — or  so  it 
seemed  to  him. 

He  was  silent  at  breakfast.  He  went  to 
school,  with  a  feeling  that  a  return  to  teaching 
little  tow-heads  to  count  and  spell  was  now 
impossible.  He  sat  in  his  scarred  and  dingy 
desk,  while  they  took  their  places,  and  his  eyes 
had  a  passionate  intensity  of  prayer  in  them 
which  awed  the  pupils.  He  had  assumed  new 
grandeur  and  terror  in  their  eyes.  When  they 
were  seated  he  bowed  his  head  and  uttered  a 
short  plea  for  grace,  and  then  he  looked  at  them 
again. 


32  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

On  the  low  front  seat,  with  dangling  legs  and 
red  round  faces,  sat  the  little  ones.  Someway 
he  could  not  call  them  to  his  knees  and  teach 
them  to  spell ;  he  felt  as  if  he  ought  to  call  them 
to  him,  as  Christ  did,  to  teach  them  love  and 
reverence.  It  was  impossible  that  they  should 
not  be  touched  by  this  hideous  neighborhood  of 
hate  and  strife. 

Behind  them  sat  the  older  children,  some  of 
them  with  rough,  hard,  sly  faces.  Some  grinned 
rudely  and  nudged  each  other.  The  older  girls 
sat  with  bated  breath  ;  they  perceived  something 
strange  in  the  air.  Most  of  them  had  heard  his 
sermon  the  night  before. 

At  last  he  broke  silence.  "  Children,  there  is 
something  I  must  say  to  you  this  morning.  I'm 
going  to  have  meeting  here  to-night,  and  it  may 
be  I  shall  not  be  your  teacher  any  more — I  mean 
in  school.  I  wish  you'd  go  home  to-day  and  tell 
your  people  to  come  to  church  here  to-night.  I 
wish  you'd  all  come  yourselves.  I  want  you  to 
be  good.  I  want  you  to  love  God  and  be  good. 
I  want  you  to  go  home  and  tell  your  people  the 
teacher  can't  teach  you  here  till  he  has  taught 
the  older  people  to  be  kind  and  generous.  You 
may  put  your  books  away,  and  school  will  be 
dismissed." 

The  wondering  children  obeyed — some  with 
glad  promptness,  others  with  sadness,  for  they 
had  already  come  to  like  their  teacher  very 
much. 

As  he  sat  by  the  door  and  watched  them  file 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  33 

out,  it  was  as  if  he  were  a  king  abdicating  a 
throne,  and  these  his  faithful  subjects.  It  was 
the  most  momentous  hour  of  his  life.  He  had 
set  his  face  toward  dark  waters. 

Mrs.  Allen  came  over  with  Mattie  to  see  him 
that  day.  She  was  a  good  woman,  gentle  and 
prayerful,  and  she'  said,  with  much  emotion  : 

"  O  Mr.  Stacey,  I  do  hope  you  can  patch 
things  up  here.  If  you  could  only  touch  his 
heart !  He  don't  mean  to  do  wrong,  but  he's  so 
set  in  his  ways — if  he  says  a  thing  he  sticks 
to  it." 

Stacey  turned  to  Mattie  for  a  word  of  encour 
agement,  but  she  only  looked  away.  It  was  im 
possible  for  her  to  put  into  words  her  feeling  in 
the  matter,  which  was  more  of  admiration  for 
his  courage  than  for  any  part  of  his  religious 
zeal.  He  was  so  different  from  other  men.  It 
seemed  he  had  a  touch  of  divinity  in  him  now. 

It  did  him  good  to  have  them  come,  and  he 
repeated  his  vow : 

"  By  the  grace  of  our  Lord,  I  am  going  to  re 
build  the  C)7ene  Church,"  and  his  face  paled  and 
his  eyes  grew  luminous. 

The  girl  shivered  with  a  sort  of  awe.  He 
seemed  to  recede  from  her  as  he  spoke,  and  to 
grow  larger,  too.  Such  nobility  of  purpose  was 
new  and  splendid  to  her. 

The  revival  was  wondrously  dramatic.  The 
little  schoolhouse  was  crowded  to  the  doors 
night  by  night.  The  reek  of  stable-stained  coats 


34  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

and  boots,  the  smell  of  strong  tobacco,  the  efflu 
via  of  many  breaths,  the  heat,  the  closeness, 
were  forgotten  in  the  fervor  of  the  young  evan 
gelist's  utterances.  His  voice  took  on  wild  emo 
tional  cadences  without  his  conscious  effort,  and 
these  cadences  sounded  deep  places  in  the  heart. 
To  these  people,  long  unused  to  religious  oratory, 
it  was  like  the  return  of  John  and  Isaiah.  It 
was  poetry  and  the  drama,  and  processions  and 
apocalyptic  visions.  He  had  the  histrionic  spell, 
too,  and  his  slender  body  lifted  and  dilated, 
and  his  head  took  on  majesty  and  power,  and 
the  fling  of  his  white  hand  was  a  challenge  and 
an  appeal. 

A  series  of  stirring  events  took  place  on  the 
third  night. 

On  Wednesday  Jacob  Turner  rose  and  asked 
the  prayers  of  his  neighbors,  and  was  followed 
by  two  Baptist  spearmen  of  the  front  rank. 
On  Thursday  the  women  all  were  weeping  on 
each  other's  bosoms ;  only  one  or  two  of  the 
men  held  out — old  Deacon  Allen  and  his  antag 
onist,  Stewart  Marsden.  Grim-visaged  old  fig 
ures  they  were,  placed  among  repentant  men  and 
weeping  women.  They  sat  like  rocks  in  the 
rush  of  the  two  factions  moving  toward  each 
other  for  peaceful  union.  Granitic,  narrow,  keen 
of  thrust,  they  seemed  unmoved,  while  all  around 
them  one  by  one  skeptics  acknowledged  the  pa 
thos  and  dignity  of  the  preacher's  views  of  life 
and  death. 

Meanwhile  the  young  evangelist  lived  at  high 


A    PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY. 


35 


pressure.  He  grew  thinner  and  whiter  each 
night.  He  toiled  in  the  daytime  to  formulate 
his  thoughts  for  the  evening.  He  could  not 
sleep  till  far  toward  morning.  The  food  he 
ate  did  him  little  good,  while  his  heart  went  out 
constantly  to  his  people  in  strenuous  supplica 
tion.  It  was  testimony  of  his  human  quality 
that  he  never  for  one  moment  lost  that  shining 
girl  face  out  of  his  thought.  He  looked  for  it 
there  night  after  night.  It  was  his  inspiration  in 
speaking,  as  at  the  first. 

On  the  nights  when  Mattie  was  not  there  his 
speech  was  labored  (as  the  elders  noticed),  but 
on  the  blessed  nights  when  she  came  and  sang, 
her  voice,  amid  all  the  rest,  came  to  him,  and 
uttered  poetry  and  peace  like  a  rill  of  cool  sweet 
water.  And  afterward,  when  he  walked  home 
under  the  stars,  his  mind  went  with  her,  she  was 
so  strong  and  lithe  and  good  to  see.  He  did  not 
realize  the  worshiping  attitude  the  girl  took 
before  divine  duties. 

At  last  the  great  day  came — the  great  night. 

In  some  way,  perhaps  by  the  growing  mass 
of  rushing  emotion  set  in  action  by  some  deep- 
going  phrase,  or  perhaps  by  some  interior  slow 
weakening  of  stubborn  will,  Deacon  Allen  gave 
way  ;  and  when  the  preacher  called  for  penitents, 
the  old  man  struggled  to  his  feet,  his  seamed, 
weather-beaten  face  full  of  grotesque  movement. 
He  broke  out : 

"Brethren,  pray  for  me;  I'm  a  miserable  sin 
ner.  I  want  to  confess  my  sins — here — before 


36  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

ye  all."  He  broke  into  sobbing  terrible  to  hear. 
"  My  heart  is  made — flesh  again — by  the  blessed 
power  of  Christ  .  .  ." 

He  struggled  to  get  his  voice.  One  or  two 
cried,  "  Praise  God  !  "  but  most  of  them  sat  silent, 
awed  into  immobility. 

The  old  man  walked  up  the  aisle.  "  I've  been 
rebellious — and  now  I  want  to  shake  hands  with 
you  all — and  I  ask  your  prayers."  He  bent 
down  and  thrust  his  hand  to  Marsden,  his  enemy, 
while  the  tears  streamed  down  his  face. 

Marsden  turned  white  with  a  sort  of  fear,  but 
he  rose  awkwardly  and  grasped  the  outstretched 
hand,  and  at  the  touch  of  palms  every  soul  rose 
as  if  by  electric  shock.  "  Amens  !  "  burst  forth. 
The  preacher  began  a  fervent  prayer,  and  came 
down  toward  the  grizzled,  weeping  old  men,  and 
they  all  embraced,  while  some  old  lady  with 
sweet  quavering  voice  raised  a  triumphal  hymn, 
in  which  all  joined,  and  found  grateful  relief 
from  their  emotional  tension. 

Allen  turned  to  Mattie  and  his  wife.  "  My 
boy — send  for  him — Herman." 

It  seemed  as  if  the  people  could  not  go  away. 
The  dingy  little  schoolhouse  was  like  unto  the 
shining  temple  of  God's  grace,  and  the  regener. 
ated  seemed  to  fear  that  to  go  home  might  be 
come  a  return  to  hate  and  strife.  So  they  clung 
around  the  young  preacher  and  would  not  let 
him  go. 

At  last  he  came  out  with  Allen  holding  to  his 
arm.  "You  must  come.home  with  us  to-night," 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY. 


37 


he  pleaded,  and  the  young  minister  with  glad 
heart  consented,  for  he  hoped  he  might  walk  be 
side  Mattie ;  but  this  was  not  possible.  There 
were  several  others  in  the  group,  and  they  moved 
off  two  and  two  up  the  deep  hollows  which 
formed  the  road  in  the  snow. 

The  young  minister  walked  with  head  up 
lifted  to  the  stars,  hearing  nothing  of  the  low 
murmur  of  talk,  conscious  only  of  his  great  plans, 
his  happy  heart,  and  the  strong  young  girl  who 
walked  before  him. 

In  the  warm  kitchen  into  which  they  came  he 
lost  something  of  his  spiritual  tension,  and  be 
came  more  humanly  aware  of  the  significance  of 
sitting  again  with  these  people.  He  gave  the 
girl  his  coat  and  hat,  and  then  watched  her  slip 
off  her  knitted  hood  and  her  cloak.  Her  eyes 
shone  with  returning  laughter,  and  her  cheeks 
were  flushed  with  blood. 

Looking  upon  her,  the  young  evangelist  lost 
his  look  of  exaltation,  his  eyes  grew  soft  and  his 
limbs  relaxed.  His  silence  was  no  longer  rapt 
— it  was  the  silence  of  delicious,  drowsy  reverie. 


V. 

The  next  morning  he  did  not  rise  at  all.  The 
collapse  had  come.  The  bad  air,  the  nervous 
strain,  the  lack  of  sleep,  had  worn  down  his 
slender  store  of  strength,  and  when  the  great 
victory  came  he  fell  like  a  tree  whose  trunk  has 


38  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

been  slowly  gnawed  across  by  teeth  of  silent 
saw.  His  drowse  deepened  into  torpor. 

In  the  bright  winter  morning,  seated  in  a  gay 
cutter  behind  a  bay  colt  strung  with  slashing 
bells,  Mattie  drove  to  Kesota  for  the  doctor. 
She  felt  the  discord  between  the  joyous  jangle 
of  the  bells,  the  stream  of  sunlight,  and  the 
sparkle  of  snow  crystals,  but  it  only  added  to  the 
poignancy  of  her  anxiety. 

She  had  not  yet  reached  self-consciousness 
in  her  regard  for  the  young  preacher — she 
thought  of  him  as  a  noble  human  being  liable  to 
death,  and  she  chirped  again  and  again  to  the 
flying  colt,  whose  broad  hoofs  flung  the  snow  in 
stinging  showers  against  her  face. 

A  call  at  the  doctor's  house  set  him  jogging 
out  along  the  lanes,  while  she  sent  a  telegram  to 
Herman.  As  she  whirled  bay  Tom  into  the  road 
to  go  home,  her  heart  rose  in  relief  that  was 
almost  exaltation.  She  loved  horses.  She  always 
sang  under  her  breath,  chiming  to  the  beat  of 
their  bells,  when  alone,  and  now  she  loosened  the 
rein  and  hummed  an  old  love  song,  while  the 
powerful  young  horse  squared  away  in  a  trot 
which  was  twelve  miles  an  hour — click,  click-click, 
c\iok-clangley  \a.ng-/i?igte,  ling. 

In  such  air,  in  such  sun,  who  could  die  ?  Her 
good  animal  strength  rose  dominant  over  fear 
of  death. 

She  came  upon  the  doctor  swinging  along  in 
his  old  blue  cutter,  dozing  in  country-doctor 
style,  making  up  for  lost  sleep. 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY. 


39 


"  Out  o'  the  way,  doctor !  "  she  gleefully 
called. 

The  doctor  roused  up  and  looked  around 
with  a  smile.  He  was  not  beyond  admiring  s^uch 
a  girl  as  that.  He  snapped  his  whip-lash  lightly 
on  old  Sofia's  back,  who  looked  up  surprised, 
and,  seeming  to  comprehend  matters,  began  to 
reach  out  broad,  flat,  thin  legs  in  a  pace  which 
the  proud  colt  respected.  She  came  of  illustrious 
line,  did  Sofia,  scant-haired  and  ungracious  as 
she  now  was. 

"  Don't  run  over  me,"  called  the  doctor,  iron 
ically,  and  with  Sofia  still  leading  they  swung 
into  the  yard. 

Mattie  went  in  with  the  doctor,  while  Allen 
looked  after  both  horses.  They  found  Chapman 
attending  Wallace — who  lay  in  a  dazed  quiet — 
conscious,  but  not  definitely  aware  of  material 
things. 

The  doctor  looked  his  patient  over  carefully. 
Then  he  asked,  "  Who  is  the  yoong  mon  ?" 

"  He's  been  teaching  here,  or  rather  preach 
ing." 

"  When  did  this  coom  on  ? " 

"  Last  night.  Wound  up  a  big  revival  last 
night,  I  believe.  Kind  o'  caved  in,  I  reckon." 

"  That's  all.  Needs  rest.  He'll  be  wearin' 
a  wood  jacket  if  he  doosna  leave  off  preach- 
in'." 

"  Regular  jamboree.  I  couldn't  stop  him. 
One  of  these  periodical  neighborhood  'awaken 
ings,'  they  call  it." 


4o 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


"They  have  need  of  it  here,  na  doot." 

"  Well,  they  need  something — love  for  God— 
or  man." 

«  M— well !  It's  lettle  I  can  do.  The  wum- 
man  can  do  more,  if  the  mon'll  be  eatin'  what 
they  cuke  for  'im,"  said  the  candid  old  Scotch 
man.  "  Mak'  'im  eat.  Mak'  'im  eat." 

Once  more  Tom  pounded  along  the  shining 
road  to  Kesota  to  meet  the  ^six-o'clock  train 
from  Chicago. 

Herman,  magnificently  clothed  in  fur-lined 
ulster  and  cap,  alighted  with  unusually  grave 
face  and  hurried  toward  Mattie. 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  sis  ?     Mother  sick  ? " 

"  No ;  it's  the  teacher.  He  is  unconscious. 
I've  been  for  the  doctor.  Oh,  we  were  scared  !  " 

He  looked  relieved,  but  a  little  chagrined. 
"  Oh,  well,  I  don't  see  why  I  should  be  yanked 
out  of  my  boots  by  a  telegram  because  the 
teacher  is  sick  !  He  isn't  kin — yet." 

For  the  first  time  a  feeling  of  shame  and 
confusion  swept  over  Mattie,  and  her  face 
flushed. 

Herman's  keen  eyes  half  closed  as  he  looked 
into  her  face. 

"  Mat — what — what !  Now  look  here — how's 
this  ?  Where's  Ben  Holly's  claim  ?  " 

"He  never  had  any."  She  shifted  ground 
quickly.  "  O  Herman,  we  had  a  wonderful 
time  last  night !  Father  and  Uncle  Marsden 
shook  hands " 

"What?"  shouted  Herman,  as  he  fell  in  a 


A    PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  4I 

limp  mass  against  the  cutter.     "Bring  a  physi 
cian — I'm  stricken." 

"  Don't  act  so  !     Everybody's  looking." 

"They'd  better  look.  I'm  drowning  while 
they  wait." 

She  untied  the  horse  and  came  back. 

"Climb  in  there  and  stop  your  fooling,  and 
I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

He  crawled  in  with  tearing  groans  of  mock 
agony,  and  then  leaned  his  head  against  her 
shoulder.  "Well,  go  on,  sis;  I  can  bear  it 
now." 

She  nudged  him  to  make  him  sit  up. 

"Well,  you  know  we've  had  a  revival." 

"  So  you  wrote.  Must  have  been  a  screamer 
to  fetch  dad  and  old  Marsden,  A  regular  Pente 
cost  of  Shinar." 

"  It  was — I  mean  it  was  beautiful.  I  saw 
father  was  getting  stirred  up.  He  prayed  almost 
all  day  yesterday,  and  at  night —  Well,  I  can't 
tell  you,  but  Wallace  talked,  oh,  so  beautiful  and 
tender." 

"She  calls  him  Wallace?"  mused  Herman, 
like  a  comedian. 

"  Hush  !  And  then  came  the  hand-shaking, 
and  then  the  minister  came  home  with  us,  be 
cause  father  asked  him  to." 

"Well,  well!  I  supposed  you  must  have 
asked  him." 

The  girl  was  hurt,  and  she  showed  it.  "  If 
you  make  fun,  I  won't  tell  you  another  word," 
she  said. 

4 


42  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

"  Away  Chicago  !  enter  Cyene  !  Well,  come, 
I  won't  fool  any  more." 

"  Then  after  Wallace— I  mean " 

"  Let  it  stand.     Come  to  the  murder." 

"  Then  father  came  and  asked  me  to  send  for 
you,  and  mother  cried,  and  so  did  he.  And,  oh, 
Hermie,  he's  so  sweet  and  kind  !  Don't  make 
fun  of  him,  will  you  ?  It's  splendid  to  have  him 
give  in,  and  everybody  feels  glad  that  the  dis 
trict  will  be  all  friendly  again." 

Herman  did  not  gibe  again.  His  voice  was 
gentle.  The  pathos  in  the  scene  appealed  to 
him.  "  So  the  old  man  sent  for  me  himself,  did 
he?" 

"Yes;  he  could  hardly  wait  till  morning. 
But  this  morning,  when  we  came  to  call  the 
teacher,  he  didn't  answer,  and  father  went  in  and 
found  him  unconscious.  Then  I  went  for  the 
doctor." 

Bay  Tom  whirled  along  in  the  splendid  dusk, 
his  nostrils  flaring  ghostly  banners  of  steam  on 
the  cold  crisp  air.  The  stars  overhead  were 
points  of  green  and  blue  and  crimson  light,  low- 
hung,  changing  each  moment. 

Their  influence  entered  the  soul  of  the  mock 
ing  young  fellow.  He  felt  very  solemn,  almost 
melancholy,  for  a  moment. 

"  Well,  sis,  I've  got  something  to  tell  you  all. 
I'm  going  to  tell  it  to  you  by  degrees.  I'm  go 
ing  to  be  married." 

"  Oh ! "  she  gasped,  with  quick,  indrawn 
breath.  "  Who  ? " 


A    PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  43 

"  Don't  be  ungrammatical,  whatever  you  do. 
She's  a  cashier  in  a  restaurant,  and  she's  a 
fine  girl,"  he  added  steadily,  as  if  combating  a 
prejudice.  He  forgot  for  the  moment  that  such 
prejudices  did  not  exist  in  Cyene. 

Sis  was  instantly  tender,  and  very,  very  seri 
ous. 

"  Of  course  she  is,  or  you  wouldn't  care  for 
her.  Oh,  I'd  like  to  see  her  !  " 

"  I'll  take  you  up  some  day  and  show  her  to 
you." 

"  Oh,  will  you  ?  Oh,  when  can  I  go  ?  "  She 
was  smit  into  gravity  again.  "  Not  till  the 
teacher  is  well." 

Herman  pretended  to  be  angry.  "  Dog  take 
the  teacher,  the  old  spindle-legs  !  If  I'd  known 
he  was  going  to  raise  such  a  ruction  in  our  quiet 
and  peaceful  neighborhood,  I  never  would  have 
brought  him  here." 

Mattie  did  not  laugh ;  she  pondered.  She 
never  quite  understood  her  brother  when  he 
went  off  on  those  queer  tirades,  which  might  be 
a  joke  or  an  insult.  He  had  grown  away  from 
her  in  his  city  life. 

They  rode  on  in  silence  the  rest  of  the  way, 
except  now  ajid  then  an  additional  question  from 
Mattie  concerning  his  sweetheart. 

As  they  neared  the  farmhouse  she  lost  in 
terest  in  all  else  but  the  condition  of  the  young 
minister.  They  could  see  the  light  burning 
dimly  in  his  room,  and  in  the  parlor  and  kitch 
en  as  well,  and  this  unusual  lighting  stirred 


44 


WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 


the  careless  young  man  deeply.  It  was  asso 
ciated  in  his  mind  with  death  and  birth,  arid 
also  with  great  joy. 

The  house  was  lighted  so  the  night  his  elder 
brother  died,  and  it  looked  so  to  him  when  he 
whirled  into  the  yard  with  the  doctor  when  Mat- 
tie  was  born. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  he  isn't  worse !  "  said  the  girl, 
with  deep  feeling. 

Herman  put  his  arm  about  her,  and  she  knew 
he  knew. 

"  So  do  I,  sis/' 

Allen  came  to  the  door  as  they  drove  in,  and 
the  careless  boy  realized  suddenly  the  emotional 
tension  his  father  was  in.  As  the  old  man  came 
to  the  sleigh-side  he  could  not  speak.  His 
fingers  trembled  as  he  took  the  outstretched 
hand  of  his  boy. 

Herman's  voice  shook  a  little : 

"Well,  dad,  Mattie  says  the  war  is  over." 

The  old  man  tried  to  speak,  but  only  coughed 
and  then  he  blew  his  nose.  At  last  he  said, 
brokenly  : 

"  Go  right  in  ;  your  mother's  waitin'." 

It  was  singularly  dramatic  to  the  youth.  To 
come  from  the  careless,  superficial  life  of  his 
city  companions  into  contact  with  such  pri 
meval  passions  as  these,  made  him  feel  like  a 
spectator  at  some  new  and  powerful  and  tragic 
play. 

His  mother  fell  upon  his  neck  and  cried, 
while  Mattie  stood  by  pale  and  anxious.  Inside 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY. 


45 


the  parlor  could  be  heard  the  mumble  of  men's 
voices. 

In  such  wise  do  death  and  the  fear  of  death 
fall  upon  country  homes.  All  day  the  house  had 
swarmed  with  people.  All  day  this  mother  had 
looked  forward  to  the  reconciliation  of  her  hus 
band  with  her  son.  All  day  had  the  pale  and 
silent  minister  of  God  kept  his  corpselike  calm, 
while  all  about  the  white  snow  gleamed,  and 
radiant  shadows  filled  every  hollow,  and  the 
cattle  bawled  and  frisked  in  the  barn-yard,  and 
the  fowls  cackled  joyously,  while  the  mild  soft 
wind  breathed  warmly  over  the  land. 

Mattie  cried  out  to  her  mother  in  quick,  low 
voice,  "  O  mother,  how  is  he  ? " 

"  He  ain't  no  worse.  The  doctor  says  there 
ain't  no  immediate  danger." 

The  girl  brought  her  hands  together  girlishly, 
and  said  :  "  Oh,  I'm  so  glad.  Is  he  awake  ?  " 

"  No  ;  he's  asleep." 

"Is  the  doctor  still  here?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  guess  I'll  step  in,"  said  Herman. 

The  doctor  and  George  Chapman  sat  beside 
the  hard-coal  heater,  talking  in  low  voices.  The 
old  doctor  was  permitting  himself  the  luxury  of 
a  story  of  pioneer  life.  He  rose  with  automatic 
courtesy,  and  shook  hands  with  Herman. 

"  How's  the  sick  man  getting  on  ?  " 

"  Vera  well — vera  well — consederin'  the  mon 
is  a  complete  worn-out  —  that's  all  —  naethin' 
more.  Thes  floom-a-didale  bezniss  of  rantin' 


46  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

away  on  the  fear  o'  the  Laird  for  sax  weeks 
wull  have  worn  out  the  frame  of  a  bool-dawg." 

Herman  and  Chapman  smiled.  "  I  hope  you'll 
tell  him  that." 

"  Na  fear,  yoong  mon,"  said  the  grim  old 
warrior.  "Weel,  now  ai'll  juist  be  takin'  an- 
ither  look  at  him." 

Herman  went  in  with  the  doctor,  and  stood 
looking  on  while  the  old  man  peered  and  felt 
about.  He  came  out  soon,  and  leaving  a  few 
directions  with  Herman  and  Chapman,  took  his 
departure.  Everything  seemed  favorable,  he 
said. 

There  was  no  longer  poignancy  of  anxiety  in 
Mattie's  mind,  she  was  too  much  of  a  child  to 
imagine  the  horror  of  loss,  but  she  was  grave  and 
gay  by  turns.  Her  healthy  and  wholesome  na 
ture  continually  reasserted  itself  over  the  power 
of  her  newly  attained  woman's  interest  in  the 
young  preacher.  She  went  to  bed  and  slept 
dreamlessly,  while  Herman  yawned  and  inward 
ly  raged  at  the  fix  in  which  circumstances  had 
placed  him.  . 

Like  many  another  lover,  days  away  from  his 
sweetheart  were  lost  days.  He,  wondered  how 
she  would  take  all  the  life  down  here.  It  would 
be  good  fun  to  bring  her  down,  anyway,  and  hear 
her  talk. »  He  planned  such  a  trip,  and  grew  so 
interested  in  the  thought  he  forgot  his  patient. 

In  the  early  dawn  Wallace  rallied  and  woke. 
Herman  heard  the  rustle  of  the  pillow,  and 
turned  to  find  the  sick  man's  eyes  looking  at  him 


A    PREACHER'S  LOVE    STORY. 


47 


fixedly,  calm  but  puzzled.  Herman's  lips  slowly 
changed  into  a  beautiful  boyish  smile,  and  Wal 
lace  replied  by  a  faint  parting  of  the  lips,  when 
Herman  said  : 

"  Hello,  old  man !  How  do  you  find  your 
self  ?"  His  hearty  humorous  greeting  seemed 
to  do  the  sick  man  good.  Herman  approached 
the  bed.  "  Know  where  you  are  ? "  Wallace 
slowly  put  out  a  hand,  and  Herman  took  it. 
"  You're  coming  on  all  right.  Want  some  break 
fast  ?  Make  it  bucks?"  he  said,  in  Chicago 
restaurant  slang.  "  White  wings — sunny — one 
up  coff." 

All  this  was  good  tonic  for  Wallace,  and  an 
hour  later  he  sipped  broth,  while  Mrs.  Allen  and 
the  Deacon  and  Herman  stood  watching  the 
process  with  apparently  consuming  interest. 
Mattie  was  still  soundly  sleeping. 

There  began  delicious  days  of  convalescence, 
during  which  he  looked  peacefully  out  at  the 
coming  and  going  of  the  two  women,  each  pos 
sessing  powerful  appeal  to  him — one  the  mother 
ly  presence  which  had  been  denied  him  for  many 
years,  the  other  something  he  had  never  per 
mitted  himself — a  sweetheart's  daily  companion 
ship. 

He  lay  there  planning  his  church,  and  also 
his  home.  Into  the  thought  of  a  new  church 
came  shyly  but  persistently  the  thought  of  a  fire 
side  of  his  own,  with  this  young  girl  sitting  in 
the  glow  of  it  waiting  for  him.  His  life  had 
held  little  romance  in  its  whole  length.  He  had 


4g  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

earned  his  own  way  through  school  and  to  college. 
His  slender  physical  energies  had  been  taxed  to 
their  utmost  at  every  stage  of  his  climb,  but  now 
it  seemed  as  though  some  blessed  rest  and  peace 
were  at  hand. 

Meanwhile,  the  bitter  partisans  met  each 
other  coming  and  going  out  of  the  gate  of  the 
Allen  estate,  and  the  goodness  of  God  shone  in 
their  softened  faces.  Herman  was  skeptical  of  its 
lasting  quality,  but  was  forced  to  acknowledge 
that  it  was  a  lovely  light.  He  it  was  who  made 
the  electrical  suggestion  to  rebuild  the  church 
as  an  evidence  of  good  faith.  "  You  say  you're 
regenerated  —  go  ahead  and  regenerate  the 
church,"  he  said. 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  neighborhood  took 
flame.  It  should  be  done.  A  meeting  was 
called.  Everybody  subscribed  money  or  work. 
It  was  a  generous  outpouring  of  love  and  faith. 

It  was  Herman  also  who  counseled  secrecy. 
"  It  would  be  a  nice  thing  to  surprise  him,"  he 
said.  "We'll  agree  to  keep  the  scheme  from 
him  at  home,  if  you  don't  give  it  away." 

They  set  to  work  like  bees.  The  women 
came  down  one  day  and  took  possession  with 
brooms  and  mops  and  soap,  and  while  the  car 
penters  repaired  the  windows  they  fell  savagely 
upon  the  grime  of  the  seats  and  floors.  The 
walls  of  the  church  echoed  with  woman's  gossip 
and  girlish  laughter.  Everything  was  scoured, 
from  the  door-hinges  to  the  altar  rails.  New 
doors  were  hung  and  a  new  stove  secured,  and 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY. 


49 


then  came  the  painters  to  put  a  new  coat  of 
paint  on  the  inside.  The  cold  weather  forbade 
repainting  the  outside. 

The  sheds  were  rebuilt  by  men  whose  hearts 
glowed  with  old-time  fire.  It  was  like  pioneer 
days,  when  "  barn-raising  "  and  "  bees  "  made 
life  worth  while  in  a  wild,  stern  land.  It  was  a 
beautiful  time.  The  old  men  were  moved  to 
tears,  and  the  younger  rough  men  shouted  cheery, 
boisterous  cries  to  hide  their  own  deep  emotion. 
Hand  met  hand  in  heartiness  never  shown  be 
fore.  Neighbors  frequented  each  other's  homes, 
and  the  old  times  of  visiting  and  brotherly  love 
came  back  upon  them.  Nothing  marred  the 
perfect  beauty  of  their  revival — save  the  fear  of 
its  evanescence.  It  seemed  too  good  to  last. 

Meanwhile  love  of  another  and  merrier  sort 
went  on.  The  young  men  and  maidens  turned 
prayer  meeting  into  trysts,  and  scrubbing  bees 
into  festivals.  They  rode  from  house  to  house 
under  glittering  stars,  over  sparkling  snows,  sing 
ing  : 

"  Hallelujah  !  'tis  done  : 

I  believe  on  the  Son  ; 

I  am  saved  by  the  blood 

Of  the  Crucified  One." 

And  their  rejoicing  chorus  was  timed  to  the 
clash  of  bells  on  swift  young  horses.  Who 
shall  say  they  did  not  right  ?  Did  the  Gali 
lean  forbid  love  and  joy  ? 

No  matter.  God's  stars,  the  mysterious 
night,  the  bells,  the  watchful  bay  of  dogs,  the 


50  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

sting  of  snow,  the  croon  of  loving  voices,  the 
clasp  of  tender  arms,  the  touch  of  parting  lips — 
these  .things,  these  things  outweigh  death  and 
hell,  and  all  that  makes  the  criminal  tremble. 
Being  saved,  they  must  of  surety  rejoice. 

And  through  it  all  Wallace  crawled  slowly 
back  to  life  and  strength.  He  ate  of  Mother 
Allen's  chicken-broth  and  of  toast  from  Mattie's 
care-taking  hand,  and  gradually  assumed  color 
and  heart.  His  solemn  eyes  looked  at  the  pow 
erful  young  girl  with  an  intensity  which  seemed 
to  take  her  strength  from  her.  She  would  glad 
ly  have  given  her  blood  for  him,  if  it  had  oc 
curred  to  her,  or  if  it  had  been  suggested  as  a 
good  thing ;  instead  she  gave  him  potatoes 
baked  to  a  nicety,  and  buttered  toast  that 
would  melt  on  the  tongue,  and,  on  the  whole, 
they  served  the  purpose  better. 

One  day  a  smartly  dressed  man  called  to  see 
Wallace.  Mattie  recognized  him  as  the  Baptist 
clergyman  from  Kesota.  He  came  in,  and  in 
troducing  himself,  said  he  had  heard  of  the  ex 
cellent  work  of  Mr.  Stacey,  and  that  he  would 
like  to  speak  with  him. 

Wallace  was  sitting  in  a  rocking  chair  in  the 
parlor.  Herman  was  in  Chicago,  and  there  was 
no  one  but  Mrs.  Allen  and  Mattie  in  the  house. 

The  Kesota  minister  introduced  himself  to 
Wallace,  and  then  entered  upon  a  long  eulogium 
upon  his  work  in  Cyene.  He  asked  after  his 
credentials,  his  plans,  his  connections,  and  then 
he  said  : 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  51 

"  You've  done  a  fine  work  in  softening  the 
hearts  of  these  people.  We  had  almost  despaired 
of  doing  anything  with  them.  Yes,  you  have 
done  a  won-der-ful  work,  and  now  we  must  reor 
ganize  a  regular  society  here.  I  will  be  out 
again  when  you  get  stronger,  and  we'll  see 
about  it." 

Wallace  was  too  weak  to  take  any  stand  in 
the  talk,  and  so  allowed  him  to  get  up  and  go 
away  without  protest  or  explanation  of  his  own 
plans. 

When  Herman  came  down  on  Saturday,  he 
told  him  of  the  Baptist  minister's  visit  and  the 
proposition.  Herman  stretched  his  legs  out  to 
ward  the  fire  and  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
Then  he  rose  and  took  a  strange  attitude,  such 
as  Wallace  had  seen  in  comic  pictures—it  was, 
in  fact,  the  attitude  of  a  Bowery  tough. 

"  Say — look  here  !  If  you  want  'o  set  dis 
community  by  de  ears  agin,  you  do  dat  ting — 
see  ?  You  play  dat  confidence  game  and  dey'll 
rat  ye — see  ?  You  invite  us  to  come  into  a  non- 
partisan  deal — see  ? — and  den  you  springs  your 
own  platform  on  us  in  de  joint  corkus — and  we 
won't  stand  it  !  Dis  goes  troo  de  way  it  began, 
or  we  don't  play — see  ?  " 

Out  of  all  this  Wallace  deduced  his  own  feel 
ing — that  continued  peace  and  good-will  lay  in 
keeping  clear  of  all  doctrinal  debates  and  dis 
putes — the  love  of  Christ,  the  desire  to  do  good 
and  to  be  clean.  These  emotions  had  been 
roused  far  more  deeply  than  he  realized,  and 


52  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

he  lifted  his  face  to  God  in  the  hope  that  no 
lesser  thing  should  come  in  to  mar  the  beauty  of 
his  Church. 

There  came  a  day  when  he  walked  out  in 
the  sunshine,  and  heard  the  hens  caw-cawing 
about  the  yard,  and  saw  the  young  colts  play 
ing  about  the  barn.  And  the  splendor  of  the 
winter  day  dazzled  him  as  if  he  were  look 
ing  upon  the  broad-flung  robe  of  the  Most 
High.  Everywhere  the  snow  lay  ridged  with 
purple  and  brown  hedges.  Smoke  rose  peace 
fully  from  chimneys,  and  the  sound  of  boys 
skating  on  a  near-by  pond  added  the  human 
element. 

The  trouble  of  concealing  the  work  of  the 
community  upon  the  church  increased  daily,  and 
Mattie  feared  that  some  hint  of  it  had  come  to 
him.  She  had  her  plan.  She  wanted  to  drive 
him  down  herself,  and  let  him  see  the  reburnished 
temple  alone.  But  this  was  impossible.  On  the 
day  when  he  seemed  able  to  go,  her  father  drove 
them  all  down.  Marsden  was  there  also,  and 
several  of  his  women-folks,  putting  down  a  new 
carpet  on  the  platform.  As  they  drew  near  the 
church,  Wallace  said  : 

"Why,  they've  fixed  up  the  sheds!  " 

Mattie  nodded.  She  was  trembling  with  the 
delicious  excitement  of  it — she  wanted  him  hur 
ried  into  the^church  at  once.  He  had  hardly 
time  to  think  before  he  was  whirled  up  to  the 
new  porch,  and  Marsden  came  out,  followed  by 
several  women.  He  was  bewildered  by  it  all. 


A   PREACHER'S  LOVE   STORY.  53 

Marsden  helped  him  out  with  hearty  voice 
sounding  : 

"  Careful  now.     Don't  hurry  !  " 

Mattie  took  one  arm,  and  so  he  entered  the 
church.  Everything  repainted !  Everything 
warm  and  bright  and  cozy! 

The  significance  of  it  came  to  him  like  a 
wave  of  light,  and  he  took  his  seat  in  the  pulpit 
chair  and  stared  at' them  all  with  a  look  on  his 
pale  face  which  moved  them  more  than  words. 
He  was  like  a  man  transfigured  by  an  inward 
glow.  His  eyes  for  an  instant  flamed  with  this 
marvelous  fire,  then  darkened,  softened  with 
tears,  and  his  voice  came  back  in  a  sob  of  joy, 
and  he  could  only  say  : 

"  Friends — brethren  !  " 

Marsden,  after  much  coughing,  said : 

"  We  all  united  on  this.  We  wanted  to  have 
you  come  to  the  church  and —  Well,  we 
couldn't  bear  to  have  you  see  it  again  the  way  it 
was." 

He  understood  it  now.  It  was  the  sign  of  a 
united  community.  It  set  the  seal  of  Christ's 
victory  over  evil  passions,  and  the  young 
preacher's  head  bowed  in  prayer,  and  they  all 
knelt,  while  his  weak  voice  returned  thanks  to 
the  Lord  for  his  gifts. 

Then  they  all  rose  and  shook  off  the  oppress 
ive  solemnity,  and  he  had  time  to  look  around 
at  all  the  changes.  At  last  he  turned  to  Mat- 
tie  and  reached  out  his  hand — he  had  the  bold 
ness  of  a  man  in  the  shadow  of  some  mighty 


54  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

event  which  makes  false  modesty  and  conven 
tions  shadowy  things  of  little  importance.  His 
sharpened  interior  sense  read  her  clear  soul,  and 
he  knew  she  was  his,  therefore  he  reached  her 
his  hand,  and  she  came  to  him  with  a  flush  on 
her  face,  which  died  out -as  she  stood  proudly 
by  his  side,  while  he  said  : 

"  And  Martha  shall  help  me." 

Therefore  this  good  thing  happened — that 
in  the  midst  of  his  fervor  and  his  consecra 
tion  'to  God's  work,  the  love  of  woman  found  a 
place. 


A   MEETING   IN   THE    FOOTHILLS. 

I. 

THE  train  which  brought  young  Ramsey  into 
Red  Rock  gave  him  no  view  of  the  mountains, 
because  it  arrived  about  eight  o'clock  of  a  dark 
day.  He  went  to  bed  at  once  in  order  to  be  up 
early  and  prostrate  himself  before  the  peaks,  for 
he  was  of  the  level  middle-West. 

He  was  awakened  by  the  sound  of  loud, 
hearty  voices,  and  looking  out  of  the  window 
saw  a  four-horse  team  standing  before  the  little 
hotel.  On  the  wagon's  side  was  a  sign  which 
made  the  heart  of  the  youth  leap. 


CRINKLE   CREEK   STAGE. 
DAVE    WILLIS,  Pro. 


He  was  in  the  land  of  gold !  It  was  like  a 
chapter  from  a  story  by  Bret  Harte.  He  dressed 
himself  hurriedly,  and  went  down  and  out  into 
the  cool,  keen  dawn,  eager  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  great  peak  whose  name  had  been  in  his  ear 

55 


56  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

since  a  child,  as  the  symbol  of  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains. 

There  it  soared,  dull  purple,  splotched  with 
dark  green,  and  rising  to  white  at  its  shoulders, 
and  radiant  with  light  on  its  crown.  In  such 
impassible  grandeur,  it  must  have  loomed  upon 
the  eyes  of  the  first  little  caravan  trailing  its 
way  across  the  plains  to  the  mysterious  West. 

He  spent  the  day  doing  little  else  but  gaze  at 
the  mountains  and  study  the  town. 

It  was  also  much  more  stupendous  than  he 
had  imagined,  and  doubts  of  his  ability  to  fit 
with  all  this  splendor  came  to  him  with  great 
force.  He  remembered  the  smooth,  green  swells 
and  fertile  fields  he  had  left  behind,  and  the 
memory  brought  a  touch  of  homesickness. 

After  supper  that  evening  he  confided  to  the 
landlord  his  plans  for  finding  a  foreman's  posi 
tion  on  a  stock  farm. 

"Well,  I  dunno.  There  are  such  places,  but 
they're  always  snapped  up  'fore  you  can  say  Jack 
Robinson." 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  give  it  a  good  try,"  the 
young  fellow  said  bravely. 

"  That's  right.  If  I  was  you,  I'd  go  out  and 
see  some  of  these  real-estate  fellers ;  they  most 
always  know  what's  going  on." 

"That's  a  good  idea;  much  obliged.  I'll 
tackle  'em  to-morrow,"  said  Arthur,  and  he  went 
off  to  bed,  feeling  victory  almost  a  tame  bird  in 
his  hands. 

The  next  forenoon  he  made  his  first  attempt. 


A   MEETING  IN    THE  FOOTHILLS. 


57 


He  had  determined  on  his  speech,  and  he  went 
into  the  first  office  with  his  song  on  his  lips. 

"I'm  looking  for  a  place  on  a  dairy  farm; 
I've  had  five  years'  practical  experience,  and  am 

a  graduate  of  the  Agricultural  College. 

I'm  after  the  position  of  bookkeeper  and  fore 
man." 

The  man  looked  at  him  gravely. 

"  You're  aiming  pretty  high,  young  feller,  for 
this  country.  There  are  plenty  of  chances  to 
work,  punching  cattle,  but  I  don't  think  chances 
are  good  for  a  foreman's  place."  He  was  a 
kindly  man,  and  repented  when  he  saw  how 
the  young  man's  face  fell.  "  However,  I'll  give 
you  some  names  of  people  to  see." 

On  the  whole,  this  was  not  so  depressing, 
Arthur  thought. 

The  next  man  made  a  mistake  and  took  him 
for  an  investor.  He  rose  with  great  cordiality. 

"Ah,  good  morning,  sir — good  morning! 
Have  a  chair.  Just  in  ?  Do  you  feel  the  draft 
there?  Oh,  all  right!"  Then  he  settled  him 
self  in  his  swivel  chair  and  beamed  his  warm 
est.  "Well,  what  do  you  think  of  our  charming 
town  ?" 

Arthur  had  not  the  heart  to  undeceive  him, 
and  so,  saturated  in  agony  sweat,  crawled  out  at 
last,  and  went  timidly  on  to  the  third  man,  who 
was  kindly  and  interested  in  a  way,  and  gave 
him  the  names  of  some  ranchers  likely  to  hire  a 
hand.  Some  days  passed  in  this  sort  of  search 
and  resulted  in  nothing  materially  valuable,  but 
5 


58  IV AY  SIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

a  strong  quality  came  out  in  his  nature.  Defeat 
seemed  to  put  a  grim  sort  of  resolution  into  his 
soul. 

Following  faint  clews,  Ramsey  made  long 
walks  into  the  country,  toiling  from  ranch  to 
ranch  over  the  dun-colored,  lonely  hills,  dogged, 
persistent,  with  lips  set  grimly. 

He  was  returning  late  one  afternoon  from 
one  of  these  fruitless  journeys.  It  was  one  of 
those  strange  days  that  come  in  all  seasons  at 
that  altitude.  The  air  was  full  of  suspended 
mist — it  did  not  rain,  the  road  was  almost  dry 
under  foot,  and  yet  this  all-pervasive  moisture 
seemed  soaking  everything.  It  was,  in  fact,  a 
cloud,  for  this  whole  land  was  a  mountain  top. 

The  road  wound  among  shapeless  buttes  of 
red  soil,  the  plain  was  clothed  on  its  levels  with 
a  short,  dry  grass,  and  on  the  side  of  the  buttes 
were  scattering,  scraggy  cedars,  looking  at  a  dis 
tance  like  droves  of  cattle. 

He  sat  down  upon  a  little  hummock  to  rest, 
for  his  feet  ached  with  the  long  stretches  of 
hilly  road.  The  larks  cried  to  him  out  of  the 
mist,  with  their  piercing  sweet  notes,  cheerful 
and  undaunted  ever.  There  was  a  sudden  light 
ing  up  of  the  day,  as  if  the  lark's  song  had  shot 
the  mist  with  silver  light. 

As  he  rose  and  started  on  with  painful  slow 
ness,  he  heard  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  behind 
him,  and  a  man  in  a  yellow  cart  came  swiftly  out 
of  the  gray  obscurity. 

Arthur  stepped  aside  to  let  him  pass,  but  he 


A    MEETING  IN    THE  FOOTHILLS. 


59 


could  not  help  limping  a  little  more  markedly  as 
the  man  looked  at  him.  The  man  seemed  to  un 
derstand. 

«  Will  you  ride  ?  "  he  asked. 

Arthur  glanced  up  at  him  and  nodded  with 
out  speaking.  The  stranger  was  a  fine-looking 
man,  with  a  military  cut  of  beard,  getting  gray. 
His  face  was  ruddy  and  smiling. 

"  Thank  you.  I  am  rather  tired,"  Arthur 
said,  as  he  settled  into  the  seat.  "  I  guess  I'll 
have  to  own  up,  I'm  about  played  out." 

"  I  thought  you  looked  foot-sore.  I'm  enough 
of  a  Western  man  to  feel  mean  when  I  pass  a 
man  on  the  road.  A  footman  can  get  very  tired 
on  these  stretches  of  ours." 

"  I've  tramped  about  forty  miles  to-day,  I 
guess.  I'm  trying  to  find  some  work  to  do,"  he 
added,  in  desperate  confidence. 

"  Is  that  so  ?     What  kind  of  work  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  wanted  to  get  a  place  as  foreman  on 
a  ranch." 

"  I'm  afraid  that's  too  much  to  expect." 

Arthur  sighed. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  is.  If  I'd  known  as  much 
two  weeks  ago  as  I  do  now,  I  wouldn't  be 
here." 

"  Oh,  don't  get  discouraged  ;  there's  plenty 
of  work  to  do.  I  can  give  you  something  to  do 
on  my  place." 

"Well,  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there 
is  nothing  here  for  me  but  the  place  of  a  com 
mon  hand,  so  if  you  can  give  me  anything " 


60  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  can  give  you  something  to  do  in 
my  garden.  Perhaps  something  better  will  open 
up  later.  Where  are  you  staying  ? "  he  asked, 
as  they  neared  town. 

Arthur  told  him,  and  the  man  drove  him  down 
to  his  hotel. 

"  I'd  like  to  have  you  call  at  my  office  to 
morrow  morning;  my  partner  does  most  of  the 
hiring.  I've  been  living  in  Denver.  Here's  my 
card." 

After  he  had  driven  away,  the  listening  land 
lord  broke  forth  : 

"  You're  in  luck,  Cap.  If  you  get  a  place 
with  Major  Thayer  you're  fixed." 

"  Who  is  he,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  Who  is  he  ?  Why,  he  owns  all  the  land  up 
the  creek,  and  banks  all  over  Colorado." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  " 

Arthur  was  delighted.  Of  course,  it  was  only 
a  common  hand's  place,  but  here  was  the  vista 
he  had  looked  for — here  was  the  chance. 

He  stretched  his  legs  under  the  table  in  huge 
content  as  he  ate  his  supper.  His  youthful  im 
agination  had  seized  upon  this  slender  wire  of 
promise  and  was  swiftly  making  it  a  hoop  of  dia 
monds. 


II. 

WHEN  he  entered  the  office  next  day,  however, 
the  Major  merely  nodded  to  him  over  the  railing 
and  said : 


A   MEETING  IN    THE   FOOTHILLS.        6 1 

"Good  morning.     Take  a  seat,  please." 

He  seemed  deeply  engaged  with  a  tall  young 
man  of  about  thirty-five  years  of  age,  with  a 
rugged,  smooth-shaven  face.  The  young  man 
spoke  with  a  marked  English  accent,  and  there 
was  a  quality  in  his  manner  of  speech  which  ap 
pealed  very  strongly  to  Arthur. 

"Confeound  the  fellow,"  the  young  English 
man  was  saying,  "  I've  discharged  him.  I  cawn't 
re-engage  him,  ye  kneow !  We  cawn't  have  a  man 
abeout  who  gets  drunk,  y'  kneow — it's  too  bloody 
proveoking,  Majah." 

"But  the  poor  fellow's  family,  Saulisbury." 

"  Oh,  hang  the  fellow's  family,"  laughed 
Saulisbury.  "  We  are  not  a  poorhouse,  y'  kneow 
— or  a  house  for  inebriates.  I  confess  I  deon't 
mind  these  things  as  you  do,  old  man.  I'm  a 
Britisher,  y'  kneow,  and  I  haven't  got  intristed 
in  your  bloody  radicalism,  y'  kneow.  I'm  in  for 
Sam  Saulisbury  'from  the  word  go,'  as  you  fel 
lows  say." 

"  And  you  don't  get  along  any  better — I  mean 
in  a  money  way." 

"  I  kneow,  and  that's  too  deuced  queeah. 
Your  blawsted  sentimentality  seems  note  to  do 
you  any  harm.  Still  I  put  it  in  this  way,  y' 
kneow — if  he  weren't  so  deadly  sentimental, 
what  couldn't  the  fellow  do,  y'  kneow  ?  " 

The  Major  laughed. 

"Well,  I  can't  turn  Jackson  off,  even  for 
you." 

"  Well,  deon't  do   it  then — only  if   he   gets 


62  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

drunk  agine  and  drops  a  match  into  the  milk 
can,  fancy  !  and  blows  us  all  up,  deon't  come 
back  on  me,  that's  all." 

They  both  laughed  at  this,  and  the  Major 
said: 

"  This  is  the  young  man  I  told  you  about, 
Mr.— a " 

"Ramsey  is  my  name,"  said  Arthur,  rising. 

"  Mr.  Ramsey,  this  is  my  partner,  Mr.  Saulis- 
bury." 

"  Haow  de  do,"  said  Saulisbury,  with  a  nod 
and  a  glance,  which  made  Arthur  hot  with  wrath, 
coming  as  it  did  after  the  talk  he  had  heard. 
Saulisbury  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  rise.  He 
merely  swung  round  on  his  swivel  chair  and  eyed 
the  young  stranger. 

Arthur  was  not  thick-skinned,  and  he  had 
been  struck  for  the  first  time  by  the  lash  of  caste, 
and  it  raised  a  welt. 

He  choked  with  his  rage  and  stood  silent, 
while  Saulisbury  looked  him  over,  and  passed 
upon  his  good  points,  as  if  he  were  a  horse. 
There  was  something  in  the  lazy  lift  of  his  eye 
brows  which  maddened  Arthur. 

"  He  looks  a  decent  young  fellow  enough ;  I 
suppeose  he'll  do  to  try,"  Saulisbury  said  at  last, 
with  cool  indifference.  "  I'll  use  him,  Majah." 

"  By  Heaven,  you  won't !  "  Arthur  burst  out. 
"I  wouldn't  work  for  you  at  any  price." 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  rushed  out. 

He  heard  the  Major  calling  to  him  as  he 
went  down  the  stairs,  but  refused  to  turn  back. 


A   MEETING  IN    THE  FOOTHILLS.         63 

The  tears  of  impotent  rage  filled  his  eyes,  his 
fists  strained  together,  and  the  curses  pushed 
slowly  from  his  lips.  He  wished  he  had  leaped 
upon  his  insulter  where  he  sat — the  smooth, 
smiling  hound ! 

He  was  dizzy  with  rage.  For  the  first  time 
in  his  life  he  had  been  trampled  upon,  and  could 
not,  at  least  he  had  not,  struck  his  assailant. 

As  he  stood  on  the  street-corner  thinking  of 
these  things  and  waiting  for  the  mist  of  rage  to 
pass  from  his  eyes,  he  felt  a  hand  on  his  arm, 
and  turned  to  Major  Thayer,  standing  by  his 
side. 

"  Look  here,  Ramsey,  you  mustn't  mind  Sam. 
He's  an  infernal  Englishman,  and  can't  under 
stand  our  way  of  meeting  men.  He  didn't  mean 
to  hurt  your  feelings." 

Arthur  looked  down  at  him  silently,  and  there 
was  a  look  in  his  eyes  which  went  straight  to  the 
Major's  heart. 

"  Come,  Ramsey,  I  want  to  give  you  a  place. 
Never  mind  this.  You  will  really  be  working 
for  me,  anyhow." 

Saulisbury  himself  came  down  the  stairs  and 
approached  them,  putting  on  his  gloves,  and 
Arthur  perceived  for  the  first  time  that  his  eyes 
were  blue  and  very  good-natured.  Saulisbury 
cared  nothing  for  the  youth,  but  felt  something 
was  due  his  partner. 

"I  hope  I  haven't  done  anything  unpardon 
able,"  he  began,  with  his  absurd,  rising  inflec 
tion. 


64  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

Arthur  flared  up  again. 

"  I  wouldn't  work  for  a  man  like  you  if  I 
starved.  I'm  not  a  dog.  You'll  find  an  Ameri 
can  citizen  won't  knuckle  down  to  you  the  way 
your  English  peasants  do.  If  you  think  you  can 
come  out  here  in  the  West  and  treat  men  like 
dogs,  you'll  find  yourself  mighty  mistaken,  that's 
all !  " 

The  men  exchanged  glances.  This  volcanic 
outburst  amazed  Saulisbury,  but  the  Major  en 
joyed  it.  It  was  excellent  schooling  for  his 
English  friend. 

"  Well,  work  for  me,  Mr.  Ramsey.  Sam 
knuckles  down  to  me  on  most  questions.  I  hope 
I  know  how  to  treat  my  men.  I'm  trying  to  live 
up  to  traditions,  anyway." 

"You'll  admit  it  is  a  tradition,"  said  Saulis 
bury,  glad  of  a  chance  to  sidle  away. 

The  Major  dismissed  Saulisbury  with  a  move 
of  the  hand. 

"  Now  get  into  my  cart,  Mr.  Ramsey,  and 
we'll  go  out  to  the  farm  and  look  things  over," 
he  said  ;  and  Arthur  clambered  in. 

"  I  can't  blame  you  very  much,"  the  Major 
continued,  after  they  were  well  settled.  "I've 
been  trying  lately  to  get  into  harmonious  rela 
tions  with  my  employees,  and  I  think  I'm  suc 
ceeding.  I  have  a  father  and  grandfather  in 
shirt  sleeves  to  start  from  and  to  refer  back  to, 
but  Saulisbury  hasn't.  He  means  well,  but  he 
can't  always  hold  himself  in.  He  means  to  be 
democratic,  but  his  blood  betrays  him." 


A   MEETING  IN   THE  FOOTHILLS.         65 

Arthur  soon  lost  the  keen  edge  of  his  griev 
ance  under  the  kindly  chat  of  the  Major. 

The  farm  lay  on  either  side  of  a  small  stream 
which  ran  among  the  buttes  and  green  mesas  of 
the  foothills.  Out  to  the  left,  the  kingly  peak 
looked  benignantly  across  the  lesser  heights  that 
thrust  their  ambitious  heads  in  the  light.  Cattle 
were  feeding  among  the  smooth,  straw-colored 
or  sage-green  hills.  A  cluster  of  farm  buildings 
stood  against  an  abrupt,  cedar-splotched  bluff, 
out  of  which  a  stream  flowed  and  shortly  fell  into 
a  large  basin. 

The  irrigation  ditch  pleased  and  interested 
Arthur,  for  it  was  the  finest  piece  of  work  he 
had  yet  seen.  It  ran  around  the  edge  of  the 
valley,  discharging  at  its  gates  streams  of  water 
like  veins,  which  meshed  the  land,  whereon 
men  were  working  among  young  plants. 

"  I'll  put  you  in  charge  of  a  team,  I  think," 
the  Major  said,  after  talking  with  the  foreman,  a 
big,  red-haired  man,  who  looked  at  Arthur  with 
his  head  thrown  back  and  one  eye  shut. 

"  Well,  now  you're  safe,"  said  the  Major,  as 
he  got  into  his  buggy,  "  so  I'll  leave  you. 
Richards  will  see  you  have  a  bed." 

Arthur  knew  and  liked  the  foreman's  family 
at  once.  They  were  familiar  types.  At  supper 
he  told  them  of  his  plans,  and  how  he  came  to 
be  out  there ;  and  they  came  to  feel  a  certain 
proprietorship  in  him  at  once. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you've  come,"  said  Mrs. 
Richards,  after  their  acquaintanceship  had  mel- 


66  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

lowed  a  day  or  two.  "You're  like  our  own 
folks  back  in  Illinois,  and  I  can't  make  these 
foreigners  seem  neighbors  nohow.  Not  but 
what  they're  good  enough,  but,  land  sakes !  they 
don't  jibe  in  someway." 

Arthur  winced  a  little  at  being  classed  in  with 
her  folks,  and  changed  the  subject. 

One  Sunday,  a  couple  of  weeks  later,  just  as 
he  was  putting  on  his  old  clothes  to  go  out  to 
do  his  evening's  chores,  the  Major  and  a  merry 
party  of  visitors  came  driving  into  the  yard. 
Arthur  came  out  to  the  carriage,  a  little  annoyed 
that  these  city  people  should  not  have  come 
when  he  had  on  his  Sunday  clothes.  The  Major 
greeted  him  pleasantly. 

"  Good  evening,  Ramsey.  Just  hitch  the 
horses,  will  you  ?  I  want  to  show  the  ladies 
about  a  little." 

Arthur  tied  the  horses  to  a  post  and  came 
back  toward  the  Major,  expecting  him  to  in 
troduce  the  ladies;  but  the  Major  did  not, 
and  Mrs.  Thayer  did  not  wait  for  an  intro 
duction,  but  said,  with  a  peculiar,  well-worn 
inflection : 

"  Ramsey,  I  wish  you'd  stand  between  me 
and  the  horses.  I'm  as  afraid  as  death  of  horses 
and  cows." 

The  rest  laughed  in  musical  uproar,  but 
Arthur  flushed  hotly.  It  was  the  manner  in 
which  English  people,  in  plays  and  stories,  ad 
dressed  their  butler  or  coachman. 

He  helped  her  down,  however,  in  sullen  si- 


A   MEETING  IN   THE  FOOTHILLS.         6/ 

lence,  for  his  rebellious  heart  seemed  to  fill  his 
throat. 

The  party  moved  ahead  in  a  cloud  of  laugh 
ter.  The  lad;es  were  dainty  as  spring  flowers  in 
their  light,  outdoor  dresses,  and  they  seemed  to 
light  up  the  whole  barnyard. 

One  of  them  made  the  most  powerful  impres 
sion  upon  Arthur.  She  was  so  dainty  and  so 
birdlike.  Her  dress  was  quaint,  with  puffed 
sleeves,  and  bands  and  edges  of  light  green,  like 
an  April  flower.  Her  narrow  face  was  as  swift 
as  light  in  its  volatile  changes,  and  her  little 
chin  dipped  occasionally  into  the  fluff  of  her 
ruffled  bodice  like  a  swallow  into  the  water. 
Every  movement  she  made  was  strange  and 
sweet  to  see. 

She  cried  out  in  admiration  of  everything, 
and  clapped  her  slender  hands  like  a  wondering 
child.  Her  elders  laughed  every  time  they 
looked  at  her,  she  was  so  entirely  carried  away 
by  the  wonders  of  the  farm. 

She  admired  the  cows  and  the  colts  very 
much,  but  shivered  prettily  when  the  bull  thrust 
his  yellow  and  black  muzzle  through  the  little 
window  of  his  cell. 

"  The  horrid  thing !     Isn't  he  savage  ?  "- 

"Not  at  all.  He  wants  some  meal,  that's 
all,"  said  the  Major,  as  they  moved  on. 

The  young  girl  skipped  and  danced  and 
shook  her  perfumed  dress  as  a  swallow  her 
wings,  without  appearing  vain — it  was  natural 
in  her  to  do  graceful  things. 


68  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

Arthur  looked  at  her  with  deep  admiration 
and  delight,  even  while  Mrs.  Saulisbury  was 
talking  to  him. 

He  liked  Mrs.  Saulisbury  at  once,  though 
naturally  prejudiced  against  her.  She  had  evi 
dently  been  a  very  handsome  woman,  but  some 
concealed  pain  had  made  her  face  thin  and 
drawn,  and  one  corner  of  her  mouth  was  set  in  a 
slight  fold  as  if  by  a  touch  of  paralysis.  Her 
profile  was  still  very  beautiful,  and  her  voice  was 
that  of  a  highly  cultivated  American. 

She  seemed  to  be  interested  in  Arthur,  and 
asked  him  a  great  many  questions,  and  all  her 
questions  were  intelligent. 

Saulisbury  amused  himself  by  joking  the 
dainty  girl,  whom  he  called  Edith. 

"  This  is  the  cow  that  gives  the  cream,  ye 
know ;  and  this  one  is  the  buttermilk  cow,"  he 
said,  as  they  stood  looking  in  at  the  barn  door. 

Edith  tipped  her  eager  little  face  up  at  him : 

"Really?" 

The  rest  laughed  again. 

"Which  is  the  ice-cream  cow?"  the  young 
girl  asked,  to  let  them  know  that  she  was  not  to 
be  fooled  with. 

Saulisbury  appealed  to  the  Major. 

"  Majah,  what  have  you  done  with  our  ice 
cream  cow  ? " 

"  She  went  dry  during  the  winter,"  said  the 
Major;  "no  demand  on  her.  'Supply  regulated 
by  the  demand,'  you  know." 

They  drifted  on  into  the  horse  barn. 


A   MEETING  IN    THE  FOOTHILLS.        69 

"  We're  in  Ramsey's  domain  now,"  said  the 
Major,  looking  at  Arthur,  who  stood  with  his 
hand  on  the  hip  of  one  of  the  big  gray  horses. 

Edith  turned  and  perceived  Arthur  for  the 
first  time.  A  slight  shock  went  through  her  sen 
sitive  nature,  as  if  some  faint  prophecy  of  great 
storms  came  to  her  in  the  widening  gaze  of  his 
dark  eyes. 

"  Oh,  do  you  drive  the  horses  ? "  she  asked 
quickly. 

"  Yes,  for  the  present ;  I  am  the  plowman," 
he  said,  in  the  wish  to  let  her  know  he  was  not 
a  common  hand.  "  I  hope  to  be  promoted." 

Her  eyes  rested  a  moment  longer  on  his  sturdy 
figure  and  his  beautifully  bronzed  skin,  then  she 
turned  to  her  companions. 

After  they  had  driven  away,  Arthur  finished 
his  work  in  silence ;  he  could  hardly  bring  him 
self  to  speak  to  the  people  at  the  supper  table, 
his  mind  was  in  such  tumult. 

He  went  up  into  his  little  room,  drew  a  chair 
to  the  window  facing  the  glorious  mountains, 
and  sat  there  until  the  ingulfing  gloom  of  rising 
night  climbed  to  the  glittering  crown  of  white 
soaring  a  mile  above  the  lights  of  the  city ;  but 
he  did  not  really  see  the  mountains;  his  eyes 
only  turned  toward  them  as  a  cat  faces  the  light 
of  a  hearth.  It  helped  him  to  think,  somehow. 

He  was  naturally  keen,  sensitive,  and  impres 
sionable;  his  mind  worked  quickly,  for  he  had 
read  a  great  deal  and  held  his  reading  at  com 
mand. 


70  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

His  thought  concerned  itself  first  of  all  with 
the  attitude  these  people  assumed  toward  him, 
It  was  perfectly  evident  that  they  regarded  him 
as  a  creature  of  inferior  sort.  He  was  their 
servant. 

It  made  him  turn  hot  to  think  how  terribly 
this  contrasted  with  the  flamboyant  phraseology 
of  his  graduating  oration.  If  the  boys  knew 
that  he  was  a  common  hand  on  a  ranch,  and 
treated  like  a  butler! 

He  came  back  for  relief  to  the  face  of  the 
girl,  the  girl  who  looked  at  him  differently  some 
how. 

The  impression  she  made  on  him  was  one  of 
daintiness  and  light ;  her  eager  face  and  her  sweet 
voice,  almost  childish  in  its  thin  quality,  appealed 
to  him  with  singular  force. 

She  was  strange  to  him,  in  accent  and  life; 
she  was  good  and  sweet,  he  felt  sure  of  that,  but 
she  seemed  so  far  away  in  her  manner  of 
thought.  He  wished  he  had  been  dressed  a 
little  better ;  his  old  hat  troubled  him  espe 
cially. 

The  girls  he  had  known,  even  the  daintiest 
of  them,  could  drive  horses  and  were  not  afraid 
of  cows.  Their  way  of  talking  was  generally  di 
rect  and  candid,  or  had  those  familiar  inflections 
which  were  comprehensible  to  him.  She  was 
alien. 

Was  she  a  girl  ?  Sometimes  she  seemed  a 
woman — when  her  face  sobered  a  moment — then 
again  she  seemed  a  child.  It  was  this  change 


A    MEETING  IN    THE  FOOTHILLS.         *j\ 

of  expression  that  bewildered  and  fascinated 
him.  < 

Then  her  lips  were  so  scarlet  and  her  level 
brown  eyebrows  wavered  about  so  beautifully ! 
Sometimes  one  had  arched  while  the  other  re 
mained  quiet ;  this  gave  a  winsome  look  of 
brightness  and  roguishness  to  her  face. 

He  came  at  last  to  the  strangest  thing  of  all : 
she  had  looked  at  him,  every  time  he  spoke,  as 
if  she  were  surprised  at  finding  herself  able  to 
understand  his  way  of  speech. 

He  worked  it  all  out  at  last.  They  all  looked 
upon  him  as  belonging  to  the  American  peas 
antry  ;  he  belonged  to  a  lower  world — a  world 
of  service.  He  was  brick,  they  were  china. 

Saulisbury  and  Mrs.  Thayer  were  perfectly 
frank  about  it;  they  spoke  from  the  English 
standpoint.  The  Major  and  Mrs.  Saulisbury  had 
been  touched  by  the  Western  spirit  and  were  try 
ing  to  be  just  to  him,  with  more  or  less  uncon 
scious  patronization. 

As  his  thoughts  ran  on,  his  fury  came  back, 
and  he  hammered  and  groaned  and  cursed  as  he 
tossed  to  and  fro  on  his  bed,  determined  to  go 
back  where  the  American  ideas  still  held — back 
to  the  democracy  of  Lodi  and  Cresco. 


72  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

III. 

THESE  spring  days  were  days  of  growth  to  the 
young  man.  He  grew  older  and  more  thought 
ful,  and  seldom  joked  with  the  other  men. 

There  came  to  the  surface  moods  which  he 
had  not  known  before.  There  came  times  when 
his  teeth  set  together  like  the  clutch  of  a  wolf, 
as  some  elemental  passion  rose  from  the  depths 
of  his  inherited  self. 

His  father  had  been  a  rather  morose  man, 
jealous  of  his  rights,  quick  to  anger,  but  just 
in  his  impulses.  Arthur  had  inherited  these 
stronger  traits,  but  they  had  been  covered  and 
concealed  thus  far  by  the  smiling  exterior  of 
youth. 

Edith  came  up  nearly  every  day  with  the 
Major  in  order  to  enjoy  the  air  and  beauty  of 
the  sunshine,  and  when  she  did  not  come  near 
enough  to  nod  to  Arthur,  life  was  a  weary  tread 
mill  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  the  mountains 
became  mere  gloomy  stacks  of  debris. 

Sometimes  she  sat  on  the  porch  with  the 
children,  while  Mrs.  Richards,  the  foreman's  wife, 
a  hearty,  talkative  woman,  plied  her  with  milk 
and  cookies. 

"  It  must  be  heaven  to  live  here  and  feed  the 
chickens  and  cows,"  the  young  girl  said  one 
day  when  Arthur  was  passing  by — quite  acci 
dentally. 

Mrs.  Richards  took  a  seat,  wiping  her  face 
on  her  apron. 


A   MEETING  IN    THE  FOOTHILLS.         73 

"  Wai,  I  don't  know  about  that,  when  it 
comes  to  waiting  and  tendin'  on  a  mess  of  'em; 
it  don't  edgicate  a  feller  much.  Does  it, 
Art  ? " 

"  We  don't  do  it  for  play,  exactly,"  he  replied, 
taking  a  seat  on  the  porch  steps  and  smiling  up 
at  Edith.  "I  can't  stand  cows;  I  like  horses, 
though.  Of  course,  if  I  were  foreman  of  the 
dairy,  that  would  be  another  thing." 

The  flowerlike  girl  looked  down  at  him  with 
a  strange  glance.  Something  rose  in  her  heart 
which  sobered  her.  She  studied  the  clear  brown 
of  his  face  and  the  white  of  his  forehead,  where 
his  hat  shielded  it  from  the  sun  and  the  wind. 
The  spread  of  his  strong  neck,  where  it  rose 
from  his  shoulders,  and  the  clutch  of  his  brown 
hands  attracted  her. 

"  How  strong  you  look  !  "  she  said  musingly. 

He  laughed  up  at  her  in  frank  delight. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  out  here  for  my  health  ex 
actly,  although  when  I  came  here  I  was  pretty 
tender.  I  was  just  out  of  college,  in  fact,"  he 
said,  glad  of  the  chance  to  let  her  know  that  he 
was  not  an  ignorant  workingman. 

She  looked  surprised  and  pleased. 

"  Oh,  you're  a  college  man !  I  have  two 
brothers  at  Yale.  One  of  them  plays  half-back 
or  short-stop,  or  something.  Of  course  you 
played  ? " 

"  Baseball  ?    Yes,  I  was  pitcher  for  '88."     He 
heaved  a  sigh.     He  could   not   think   of   those 
blessed  days  without  sorrow. 
6 


74  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  baseball.  I  meant  foot 
ball." 

"  We  don't  play  that  much  in  the  West.  We 
go  in  more  for  baseball.  More  science." 

"  Oh,  I  like  football  best,  it's  so  lively.  I  like 
to  see  them  when  they  get  all  bunched  up,  they 
look  so  funny,  and  then  when  some  fellow  gets 
the  ball  under  his  arms  and  goes  shooting  around, 
with  the  rest  all  jumping  at  him.  Oh,  oh,  it's 
exciting! " 

She  smiled,  and  her  teeth  shone  from  her 
scarlet  lips  with  a  more  familiar  expression  than 
he  had  seen  on  her  face  before.  Some  wall  of 
reserve  had  melted  away,  and  they  chatted  on 
with  growing  freedom. 

"  Well,  Edith,  are  you  ready  ? "  asked  the 
Major,  coming  up. 

Arthur  sprang  up  as  if  he  suddenly  remem 
bered  that  he  was  a  workingman. 

Edith  rose  also. 

"Yes,  all  ready,  uncle." 

"  Well,  we'll  be  going  in  a  minute. — Mr.  Ram 
sey,  do  you  think  that  millet  has  got  water 
enough?" 

"  For  the  present,  yes.  The  ground  is  not  so 
dry  as  it  looks." 

As  they  talked  on  about  the  farm,  Mrs.  Rich 
ards  brought  out  a  glass  of  milk  for  the  Major. 

Arthur,  with  nice  calculation,  unhitched  the 
horse  and  brought  it  around  while  the  Major 
was  detained. 

"  May  I  help  you  in,  Miss  Newell  ?" 


A    MEETING  IN   THE  FOOTHILLS. 


75 


She  gave  him  her  hand  with  a  frank  gesture, 
and  the  Major  reached  the  cart  just  as  she  was 
taking  the  lines  from  Arthur. 

"Are  you  coming?"  she  gayly  cried.  "If 
not,  I'll  drive  home  by  myself." 

"You  mean  you'll  hold  the  lines." 

"  No,  sir.     I  can  drive  if  I  have  a  chance." 

"  That's  what  the  American  girl  is  saying 
these  days.  She  wants  to  hold  the  lines." 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  begin  right  now  and 
drive  all  the  way  home." 

As  they  drove  off  she  flashed  a  roguish 
glance  back  at  Arthur — a  smile  which  shadowed 
swiftly  into  a  look  which  had  a  certain  appeal 
in  it.  He  was  very  handsome  in  his  working 
dress. 

All  the  rest  of  the  day  that  look  was  with 
him.  He  could  not  understand  it,  though  her 
mood  while  seated  upon  the  porch  was  perfectly 
comprehensible  to  him. 

The  following  Sunday  morning  he  saddled 
up  one  of  the  horses  and  went  down  to  church. 
He  reasoned  Edith  would  attend  the  Episcopal 
service,  and  he  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her 
pass  up  the  aisle  most  exquisitely  dressed. 

This  feeling  of  pleasure  was  turned  to  sad 
ness  by  sober  second  thought.  Added  to  the 
prostration  before  his  ideal  was  the  feeling  that 
she  belonged  to  another  world — a  world  of 
pleasure  and  wealth,  a  world  without  work  or 
worry.  This  feeling  was  strengthened  by  the 
atmosphere  of  the  beautiful  little  church,  fra- 


76  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

grant  with  flowers,  delicately  shadowed,  tremu 
lous  with  music. 

He  rode  home  in  deep  meditation.  It  was 
curious  how  subjective  he  was  becoming.  She 
had  not  seen  him  there,  and  his  trip  lacked  so 
much  of  being  a  success.  Life  seemed  hardly 
worth  living  as  he  took  off  his  best  suit  and  went 
out  to  feed  the  horses. 

The  men  soon  observed  the  regularity  of 
these  Sunday  excursions,  and  the  word  was 
passed  around  that  Arthur  went  down  to  see  his 
girl,  and  they  set  themselves  to  find  out  who  she 
was.  They  did  not  suspect  that  he  sought  the 
Major's  niece. 

It  was  a  keen  delight  to  see  her,  even  at  that 
distance.  To  get  one  look  from  her,  or  to  see 
her  eyelashes  fall  over  her  brown  eyes,  paid  him 
for  all  his  trouble,  and  yet  it  left  him  hungrier 
at  heart  than  before. 

Sometimes  he  got  seated  in  such  wise  that  he 
could  see  the  fine  line  of  her  cheek  and  chin. 
He  noticed  also  her  growing  color.  The  free 
life  she  lived  in  the  face  of  the  mountain  winds 
was  doing  her  good. 

Sometimes  he  went  at  night  to  the  song  serv 
ice,  and  his  rides  home  alone  on  the  plain,  with 
the  shadowy  mountains  over  there  massed  in 
the  starlit  sky,  were  most  wonderful  experi 
ences. 

As  he  rose  and  fell  on  his  broncho's  steady 
gallop,  he  took  off  his  hat  to  let  the  wind  stir  his 
hair.  Riding  thus,  exalted  thus,  one  night  he 


A    MEETING  IN    THE   FOOTHILLS.        jj 

shaped  a  desperate  resolution.  He  determined 
to  call  on  her  just  as  he  used  to  visit  the  girls  at 
Viroqua  with  whom  he  was  on  the  same  intimacy 
of  footing. 

He  was  as  good  as  any  class.  He  was  not  as 
good  as  she  was,  for  he  lacked  her  sweetness 
and  purity  of  heart,  but  merely  the  fact  that  she 
lived  in  a  great  house  and  wore  beautiful  gar 
ments,  did  not  exclude  him  from  calling  upon 
her. 


IV. 

BUT  week  after  week  went  by  without  his 
daring  to  make  his  resolution  good.  He  deter 
mined  many  times  to  ask  permission  to  call,  but 
somehow  he  never  did. 

He  seemed  to  see  her  rather  less  than  at  first ; 
and,  on  her  part,  there  was  a  change.  She 
seemed  to  have  lost  her  first  eager  and  frank 
curiosity  about  him,  and  did  not  always  smile 
now  when  she  met  him. 

Then,  again,  he  could  not  in  working  dress 
ask  to  call ;  it  would  seem  so  incongruous  to 
stand  before  her  to  make  such  a  request  cov 
ered  with  perspiration  and  dust.  It  was  hard  to 
be  dignified  under  such  circumstances ;  he  must 
be  washed  and  dressed  properly. 

In  the  meantime,  the  men  had  discovered 
how  matters  stood,  and  some  of  them  made  very 
free  with  the  whole  situation.  Two  of  them 
especially  hated  him. 


78  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

These  two  men  had  drifted  to  the  farm  from 
the  mines  somewhere,  and  were  rough,  hard 
characters.  They  would  have  come  to  blows 
with  him,  only  they  knew  something  of  the  power 
lying  coiled  in  his  long  arms. 

One  day  he  overheard  one  of  the  men  speak 
ing  of  Edith,  and  his  tone  stopped  the  blood  in 
Arthur's  heart.  When  he  walked  among  the 
group  of  men  his  face  was  white  and  set. 

"  You  take  that  back ! "  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "  You  take  that  back,  or  I'll  kill  you 
right  where  you  stand  !  " 

"  Do  him  up,  Tim  !  "  shouted  the.  other  ruf 
fian  ;  but  Tim  hesitated.  "  I'll  do  him,  then," 
said  the  other  man.  "  I  owe  him  one  myself." 

He  caught  up  a  strip  of  board  which  was 
lying  on  the  ground  near,  but  one  of  the  Nor 
wegian  workmen  put  his  foot  on  it,  and  before 
he  could  command  his  weapon,  Arthur  brought 
a  pail  which  he  held  in  his  right  hand  down  upon 
his  opponent's  head. 

The  man  fell  as  if  dead,  and  the  pail  shat 
tered  into  its  original  staves.  Arthur  turned 
then  to  face  Tim,  his  hands  doubled  into  mauls ; 
but  the  other  men  interfered,  and  the  encounter 
was  over. 

Arthur  waited  to  see  if  the  fallen  man  could 
rise,  and  then  turned  away  reeling  and  breath 
less.  For  an  hour  afterward  his  hands  shook  so 
badly  that  he  could  not  go  on  with  his  work. 

At  first  he  determined  to  go  to  Richards,  the 
foreman,  and  demand  the  discharge  of  the  two 


A    MEETING  IN    THE   FOOTHILLS.         79 

tramps,  but  as  he  thought  of  the  explanation 
necessary,  he  gave  it  up  as  impossible. 

He  almost  wept  with  shame  and  despair  at 
the  thought  of  her  name  having  been  mixed  in 
the  tumult.  He  had  meant  to  kill  when  he 
struck,  and  the  nervous  prostration  which  fol 
lowed  showed  him  how  far  he  had  gone.  He 
had  not  had  a  fight  since  he  was  thirteen  years 
of  age,  and  now  everything  seemed  lost  in  the 
light  of  his  murderous  rage.  It  would  all  come 
out  sooner  or  later,  and  she  would  despise  him. 

He  went  to  see  the  man  just  before  going  to 
supper,  and  found  him  in  his  barracks,  sitting 
near  a  pail  of  cold  water  from  which  he  was 
splashing  his  head  at  intervals. 

He  looked  up  as  Arthur  entered,  but  went 
on  with  his  ministrations;  after  a  pause  he  said : 

"  That  was  a  terrible  lick  you  give  me,  young 
feller — brought  the  blood  out  of  my  ears." 

"  I  meant  to  kill  you,"  was  Arthur's  grim 
reply. 

"  I  know  you  did.  If  that  darned  Norse 
hadn't  put  his  foot  on  that  board  youd  be 
doing  this."  He  lifted  a  handful  of  water  to  his 
swollen  and  aching  head. 

"  What  did  you  go  to  that  board  for  ?  Why 
didn't  you  stand  up  like  a  man  ?  " 

"  Because  you  were  swinging  that  bucket." 

"  Oh,  bosh  !  You  were  a  coward  as  well  as  a 
blackguard." 

The  man  looked  up  with  a  gleam  in  his  eye. 

"  See  here,  young  feller — if  this  head " 


80  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

Arthur's  face  darkened,  and  the  man  stopped 
short. 

"  Now  listen,  Dan  Williams,  I  want  to  tell 
you  something.  I'm  not  going  to  report  this. 
I'm  going  to  let  you  stay  here  till  you're  well, 
and  then  I  want  this  thing  settled  with  Richards 
looking  on  ;  when  I  get  through  with  you,  then, 
you'll  want  a  cot  in  some  hospital." 

The  man's  eyes  sullenly  fell,  and  Arthur 
turned  toward  the  door.  At  the  doorway  he 
turned  and  a  terrible  look  came  into  his  face. 

"  And,  more  than  that,  if  you  say  another 
word  about — her,  I'll  brain  you,  sick  or  well !  " 

As  he  talked,  the  old,  wild  fury  returned, 
and  he  came  back  and  faced  the  wounded  man. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ? "  he  de 
manded,  his  hands  clinching. 

The  other  man  looked  at  him,  with  a  curious 
frown  upon  his  face. 

"  Think  I'm  a  damned  fool  !  "  he  curtly  an 
swered,  and  sopped  his  handkerchief  in  the  water 
again. 

The  rage  went  out  of  Arthur's  eyes,  and  he 
almost  smiled,  so  much  did  that  familiar  phrase 
convey,  with  its  subtle  inflections.  It  was  cun 
ning  and  candid  and  chivalrous  all  at  once.  It 
acknowledged  defeat  and  guilt  and  embodied  a 
certain  pride  in  the  victor. 

"  Well,  that  settles  that,"  said  Arthur.  "  One 
thing  more — I  don't  want  you  to  say  what  made 
the  row  between  us." 

"  All  right,  pard  ;  only,  you'd  better  see  Tim." 


A   MEETING  IN    THE   FOOTHILLS.         gl 

In  spite  of  his  care,  the  matter  came  to  the 
ears  of  Richards,  who  laughed  over  it  and  told 
his  wife,  who  stared  blankly. 

"  Good  land  !     When  did  it  happen  ?  " 

"  A  couple  of  days  ago." 

"  Wai,  there  !  I  thought  there  was  a  nigger 
in  the  fence.  Dan  had  a  head  on  him  like  a 
bushel  basket.  What  was  it  about  ?  " 

"  Something  Tim  said  about  Edith." 

"  I  want  to  know  !  Wai,  wal !  An'  here 
they've  been  going  around  as  peaceful  as  two 
kittens  ever  since." 

"  Of  course.  They  pitched  in  and  settled  it 
man  fashion  ;  they  ain't  a  couple  of  women  who 
go  around  sniffin'  and  spittin'  at  each  other," 
said  Richards,  with  brutal  sarcasm.  "  As  near 
as  I  can  learn,  Tim  and  Dan  come  at  him  to 
once." 

"  They're  a  nice  pair  of  tramps !  "  said  Mrs. 
Richards  indignantly.  "  I  told  you  when  they 
come  they'd  make  trouble." 

"  I  told  you  the  cow'd  eat  up  the  grindstone," 
Richards  replied  with  a  grin,  walking  away. 

The  more  Mrs.  Richards  thought  of  it,  the 
finer  it  all  appeared  to  her.  She  was  deeply  en 
gaged  now  on  Arthur's  side,  and  was  very  eager 
to  do  something  to  help  on  in  his  "  sparking," 
as  she  called  it.  She  seized  the  first  opportunity 
to  .tell  Edith. 

"  Don't  s'pose  you  heard  of  the  little  fracas 
we  had  t'other  day,"  she  began,  in  phrase  which 
she  intended  to  be  delicately  indirect. 


82  WA  YSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

Edith  was  sitting  in  the  cart,  and  Mrs.  Rich 
ards  stood  at  the  wheel,  with  her  apron  shading 
her  head. 

"  Why,  no.     What  was  it  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Ramsey  come  mighty  near  gettin' 
killed."  The  old  woman  enjoyed  deeply  the 
dramatic  pallor  and  distortion  of  the  girl's  face. 

"  Why — why — what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Wai,  if  he  hadn't  a  lammed  one  feller  with 
a  bucket  he'd  a  been  laid  out  sure.  So  Richards 
says  ;  as  it  is,  it's  the  other  feller  that  has  the 
head."  She  laughed  to  see  the  girl's  face  grow 
rosy  again. 

"  Then— Mr.  Ramsey  isn't  hurt  ?  " 

"  Not  a  scratch  !  The  funny  part  of  it  is, 
they've  been  going  around  here  for  a  week, 
quiet  as  you  please.  I  wouldn't  have  known 
anything  about  it  only  for  Richards." 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  dreadful  ? "  said  the  girl. 

"  Yes,  'tis  !  "  the  elder  woman  readily  agreed  ; 
"  but  why  don't  you  ask  what  it  was  all  about  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  know  anything  more 
about  it ;  it's  too  terrible." 

Mrs.  Richards  was  approaching  the  climax. 

"  It  was  all  about  you." 

The  girl  could  not  realize  what  part  she 
should  have  with  a  disgraceful  row  in  the  barn 
yard  of  her  uncle's  farm. 

"  Yes,  these  men — they're  regular  tramps  ;  I 
told  Richards  so  the  first  time  I  set  eyes  on  'em 
— they  made  a  little  free  with  your  name,  and 
Art  he  overheard  them  and  he  went  for  'em,  and 


A    MEETING  IN   THE  FOOTHILLS.         83 

they  both  come  at  him,  two  to  one,  and  he 
lammed  both  out  in  a  minute  —  so  Richards 
says.  Now  I  call  that  splendid  ;  don't  you  ?  A 
young  feller  that'll  stand  up  for  his  girl  ag'in  two 
big  tramps " 

The  Major  had  been  motioning  for  Edith  to 
drive  on  down  toward  the  gate,  and  she  seized 
the  chance  for  escape.  Her  lips  quivered  with 
shame  and  anger.  It  seemed  already  as  if  she 
had  been  splashed  with  mire. 

"  Oh,  the  vulgar  creatures  !  "  she  said,  in  her 
throat,  her  teeth  shut  tight. 

"  There,  isn't  that  a  fine  field  ?  "  asked  the 
Major,  as  he  pointed  to  the  cabbages.  "  There 
is  a  chance  for  an  American  imitator  of  Monet 
— those  purple-brown  deeps  and  those  gray-blue- 
pink  pearl  tints —  What's  the  matter,  my  dear  ? " 
he  broke  off  to  ask.  "  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  only  let's  go  home,"  she  said,  the 
tears  coming  into  her  eyes. 

He  got  in  hastily. 

"  My  dear,  you  are  really  ill.  What's  the 
matter  ?  Has  your  old  enemy  the  headache — " 
He  put  his  arm  about  her  tenderly. 

"  No,  no  !  I'm  sick  of  this  place — I  wish  I'd 
never  seen  it !  How  could  those  dreadful  men 
fight  about  me  ?  It's  horrible  !  " 

The  Major  whistled. 

"  Oh,  ho  !  that's  got  around  to  you,  has  it  ? 
I  didn't  know  it  myself  until  yesterday  ;  I  was 
hoping  it  wouldn't  reach  you  at  all.  1  wouldn't 
mind  it,  my  dear.  It's  the  shadow  every  lovely 


84 


WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 


woman  throws,  no  matter  where  she  walks ;  it's 
only  your  shadow  that  has  passed  over  the  cess 
pool." 

"  But  I  can't  even  bear  that ;  it  seems  like  a 
part  of  me.  What  do  you  suppose  they  said  of 
me  ?  "  she  asked,  in  morbid  curiosity. 

"  Now,  now,  dearest,  to  know  that  would  be 
stepping  into  the  muck  after  your  shadow  ;  the 
talk  of  such  men  is  unimaginable  to  you." 

"  You  don't  mean  Mr.  Ransey  ?  " 

"  No;  Mr.  Ramsey  is  a  different  sort  of  man, 
and  I  don't  suppose  anything  else  would  have 
brought  him  to  blows  with  those  rough  men." 

They  sat  looking  straight  forward. 

"  Oh,  it's  horrible,  horrible  !  " 

Her  uncle  tightened  his  arm  about  her. 

"  I  suppose  the  knowledge  of  such  lower 
deeps  must  come  to  you  some  day,  but  don't 
seek  it  now ;  I've  told  you  all  you  ought  to 
know.  Ramsey  meant  well,"  he  went  on,  after  a 
silence,  "  but  such  things  do  little  good,  not 
enough  to  pay  for  the  outlay  of  self-respect. 
He  can't  control  their  talk  when  he's  out  of 
hearing." 

"  But  I  supposed  that  if  a  woman  was — good 
— I  mean — I  didn't  know  that  men  talked  in 
that  way  about  girls  —  like  me.  How  could 
they  ? " 

The  abyss  still  fascinated  her. 

"  My  dear,  such  men  are  only  half  civilized. 
They  have  all  the  passions  of  animals,  and  all 
the  vices  of  men.  Ramsey  was  too  hot-headed ; 


A    MEETING  IN    THE  FOOTHILLS.        85 

their  words  do  not  count ;  they  weren't  worth 
whipping." 

There  was  a  little  silence.  They  were  near- 
ing  the  mountains  again,  and  both  raised  their 
eyes  to  the  peaks  deeply  shadowed  in  Tyrian 
purple. 

"  I  know  how  you  feel,  I  think,"  the  Major 
went  on,  "  but  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  forget 
it.  I'm  sorry  Ramsey  fought.  To  walk  into  a 
gang  of  rough  men  like  that  is  foolish  and  dan 
gerous  too,  for  the  ruffian  is  generally  the  best 
man  physically,  I'm  sorry  to  say." 

"  It  was  brave,  though,  don't  you  think  so  ? " 
she  asked. 

He  looked  at  her  quickly. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  it  was  brave  and  very  youthful." 

She  smiled  a  little  for  the  first  time. 

"  I  guess  I  like  youth." 

"  In  that  case  I'll  have  to  promote  him  for 
it,"  he  said  with  a  smile  that  made  her  look 
away  toward  the  mountains  again. 


V. 

SAULISBURY  took  a  sudden  turn  to  friendli 
ness,  and  defended  the  action  when  the  Major 
related  the  story  that  night  at  the  dinner  table, 
as  they  were  seated  over  their  coffee  and  cigars. 
He  was  dining  with  the  Saulisburys. 

"  It's  uncommon  plucky,  that's  what  I  think, 
d'ye  kneow.  By  Jeove,  I  didn't  think  the  young 


86  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

dog  had  it  in  him,  really.  He  did  one  fellow  up 
with  a  bucket,  they  say,  and  met  the  other  fellow 
with  his  left.  Where  did  the  young  beggah  get 
his  science  ?  " 

"At  college,  I  suppose." 

"  But  I  suppeosed  these  little  Western  col 
leges  were  a  milk-and-wahta  sawt  of  thing,  ye 
kneow — Baptist  and  Christian  Endeavor,  and  all 
that,  ye  kneow." 

"  Oh,  no,"  laughed  the  Major.  "  They  are 
not  so  benighted  as  that.  They  give  a  little  at 
tention  to  the  elementary  studies,  though  I  be 
lieve  athletics  do  come  second  on  the  curric 
ulum." 

"Well,  the  young  dog  seems  to  have  made 
some  use  of  his  chawnce,"  said  Saulisbury,  who 
had  dramatized  the  matter  in  his  own  way,  and 
saw  Ramsey  doing  the  two  men  up  in  accordance 
with  Queensberry  rules.  "  I  wouldn't  hawf  liked 
the  jobe  meself,  do  ye  kneow.  They're  forty 
years  apiece,  and  as  hard  as  nails." 

Mrs.  Saulisbury  looked  up  from  her  wal 
nuts. 

"  Sam  is  ready  to  carry  the  olive  club  to  Mr. 
Ramsey.  '  The  poor  beggar,'  as  he  has  called 
him  all  along,  will  be  a  gentleman  from  this  time 
forward." 

After  the  Major  had  gone,  Saulisbury  said  : 

"  There's  one  thing  the  Majah  was  careful 
note  to  mention,  my  deah.  Why  should  this 
young  fellow  be  going  abeout  defending  the 
good  name  of  his  niece  ?  Do  ye  kneow,  my 


A    MEETING  IN    THE  FOOTHILLS.         8/ 

deah,  I   fancy  the  young  idiot  is  in   love  with 
her." 

"Well,  suppose  he  is  ?  " 

"  But,  my  deah  !  In  England,  you  kneow,  it 
wouldn't  mattah  ;  it  would  be  a  case  of  hopeless 
devotion.  But  as  I  understand  things  heah, 
it  may  become  awkward.  Don't  ye  think  so, 
love  ?  " 

"  It  depends  upon  the  young  man.  Edith 
could  do  worse  than  marry  a  good,  clean,  whole 
some  fellow  like  that." 

"  Good  gracious !  You  deon't  allow  your 
mind  to  go  that  fah  ?  " 

"  Why,  certainly  !  I'd  much  rather  she'd 
marry  a  strong  young  workingman  than  some" 
burnt-out  third-generation  wreck  of  her  own  set 
in  the  city." 

"  But  the  fellow  has  no  means." 

"  He  has  muscle  and  brains,  and  besides,  she 
has  something  of  her  own." 

Saulisbury  filled  his  pipe  slowly. 

"  Luckily,  it's  all  theory  on  our  part ;  the 
contingency  isn't  heah — isn't  likely  to  arrive,  in 
fact." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure.  If  I  can  read  a  girl's 
heart  in  the  lines  of  her  face,  she's  got  where 
principalities  and  powers  are  of  small  ac 
count." 

"  Really  ?  " 

"  Sure  as  shooting,"  she  smilingly  said. 

Saulisbury  mused  and  puffed. 

"  In  that  case,  we  will  have  to  turn  in  and 


88  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

give  the  fellow  what  you  Americans  call  a 
boost." 

"  That's  right"  his  wife  replied  slangily. 

Edith  went  to  her  room  that  night  with  a 
mind  whirling  in  dizzying  circles,  whose  motion 
she  could  not  check.  It  was  terrible  to  have  it 
all  come  in  this  way. 

She  knew  Arthur  cared  for  her — she  had 
known  it  from  the  first — but  with  the  happy 
indifference  of  youth,  she  had  not  looked  for 
ward  to  the  end  of  the  summer.  The  sure 
outcome  of  passion  had  kept  itself  somewhere 
in  a  golden  glimmer  on  the  lower  sweep  of  the 
river. 

She  wished  for  some  one  to  go  to  for  advice. 
Mrs.  Thayer,  she  knew,  would  exclaim  in  horror 
over  the  matter.  The  Major  had  hinted  the 
course  she  would  have  to  take,  which  was  to 
show  Arthur  he  had  no  connection  with  her  life — 
if  she  could.  But  deep  in  her  heart  she  knew 
she  could  not  do  that. 

Suddenly  a  thought  came  to  her  which  made 
her  flush  till  the  dew  of  shame  stood  upon  her 
forehead.  He  had  never  been  to  see  her ;  she 
had  always  been  to  see  him ! 

She  knew  that  this  was  true.  She  did  not 
attempt  to  conceal  it  from  herself  now.  The 
charm  of  those  rides  with  her  uncle  was  the 
chance  of  seeing  Arthur.  The  sweet,  never- 
wearying  charm  that  made  this  summer  one  of 
perfect  happiness,  that  had  made  her  almost 
forget  her  city  ways  and  friends,  that  had  made 


A   MEETING  IN    THE  FOOTHILLS.         89 

her  brown  and  strong  with  the  soil  and  wind, 
was  daily  contact  with  a  robust  and  wholesome 
young  man,  a  sturdy  figure  with  brown  throat 
and  bare,  strong  arms. 

She  went  off  at  this  point  into  a  retrospective 
journey  along  the  pathways  of  her  summer  out 
ing.  At  this  place  he  stood  at  the  watering 
trough,  leaning  upon  his  great  gray  horse.  Here 
he  was  walking  behind  his  plow  ;  he  was  lifting 
his  hat — the  clear  sunshine  fell  over  his  face. 
She  saw  again  the  splendid  flex  of  his  side  and 
powerful  thigh.  Here  he  was  in  the  hayfield, 
and  she  saw  the  fork-handle  bend  like  a  willow 
twig  under  his  smiling  effort,  the  muscles  on  his 
brown  arms  rolling  like  some  perfect  machinery. 
She  idealized  all  he  did,  and  the  entire  summer 
and  the  wide  landscape  seemed  filled  with  pris 
matic  colors. 

Then  her  self-accusations  came  back.  She 
had  gone  down  into  the  field  to  see  him ; 
perhaps  the  very  man  who  was  with  him  then 
was  one  of  those  who  had  jested  of  ~ her  and 
whom  he  had  punished.  Her  little  hands 
clutched. 

"  I'll  never  go  out  there  again  !  I'll  never 
see  him  again — never  !  "  she  said,  with  her  teeth 
shut  tight. 

Mrs.  Thayer  did  not  take  any  very  great  in 
terest  in  the  matter  until  Mrs.  Saulisbury  held 
a  session  with  her.  Then  she  sputtered  in  deep 
indignation. 

"  Why,  how  dare  he  make  love  to  my  niece  ? 
7 


QO  WA  YSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

Why,  the  presumptuous  thing  !  Why,  the  idea  ! 
He's  a  workingman  !  " 

Mrs.  Saulisbury  remained  calm  and  smiling. 
She  was  the  only  person  who  could  manage 
Mrs.  Thayer. 

"  Yes,  that's  true.  But  he's  a  college-bred 
man,  and " 

"  College-bred  !  These  nasty  little  Western 
colleges — what  do  they  amount  to  ?  Why,  he 
curries  our  horses." 

Mrs.  Saulisbury  was  amused. 

"  I  know  that  is  an  enormity,  but  I  heard  the 
Major  tell  of  currying  horses  once." 

"  That  was  in  the  army — anyhow,  it  doesn't 
matter.  Edith  can  simply  ignore  the  whole 
thing." 

"  I  hope  she  can,  but  I  doubt  it  very  much." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  Edith  is  interested  in  him." 

"  I  don't  believe  it !  Why,  it  is  impossible  ! 
You're  crazy,  Jeannette  !  " 

"  He's  very  handsome  in  a  way." 

"  He's  red  and  big-jointed,  and  he's  a  com 
mon  plowboy."  Mrs.  Thayer  gasped,  returning 
to  her  original  charge. 

Mrs.  Saulisbury  laughed,  being  malevolent 
enough  to  enjoy  the  whole  situation. 

"  He  appears  to  me  to  be  a  very  uncommon 
plowboy.  Well,  I  wouldn't  try  to  do  anything 
about  it,  Charlotte,"  she  added.  "  You  remem 
ber  the  fate  of  the  Brookses,  who  tried  to  force 
Maud  to  give  up  her  clerk.  If  this  is  a  case  of 


A   MEETING  IN   THE  FOOTHILLS.        gi 

true  love,  you  might  as  well  surrender  grace 
fully." 

"  But  I  can't  do  that.  I'm  responsible  for 
her  to  her  father.  I'll  go  right  straight  and  ask 
her." 

"  Charlotte,"  Mrs.  Saulisbury's  voice  rang 
with  a  stern  note,  "  don't  you  presume  to  do  such 
a  thing!  You  will  precipitate  everything.  The 
girl  don't  know  her  own  mind,  and  if  you  go  up 
there  and  attack  this  young  man,  you'll  tip  the 
whole  dish  over.  Don't  you  know  you  can't 
safely  abuse  that  young  fellow  in  her  hearing  ? 
Sit  down  now  and  be  reasonable.  Leave  her 
alone  for  a  while.  Let  her  think  it  over  alone." 

This  good  counsel  prevailed,  and  the  other 
woman  settled  into  a  calmer  state. 

"Well,  it's  a  dreadful  thing,  anyhow." 

"  Perfectly  dreadful !  But  you  mustn't  take 
a  conventional  view  of  it.  You  must  remember, 
a  good,  handsome,  healthy  man  should  come 
first  as  a  husband,  and  this  young  man  is  very 
attractive,  and  I  must  admit  he  seems  a  gentle 
man,  so  far  as  I  can  see.  Besides,  you  can't  do 
anything  by  storming  up  to  that  poor  girl.  Let 
her  alone  for  a  few  days." 

Following  this  suggestion,  no  one  alluded  to 
the  fight,  or  appeared  to  notice  Edith's  changed 
moods,  but  Mrs.  Saulisbury  could  not  forbear 
giving  her  an  occasional  squeeze  of  wordless 
sympathy,  as  she  passed  her. 

It  was  pitiful  to  see  the  tumult  and  fear  and 
responsibility  of  the  world  coming  upon  this 


92 


WAYSIDE   CO  UK  T  SHIPS. 


dainty,  simple-hearted  girl.  Life  had  been  so 
straightforward  before.  No  toil,  no  problems, 
no  choosing  of  things  for  one's  self.  Now  sud 
denly  here  was  the  greatest  problem  of  all  com 
ing  at  the  end  of  a  summer-time  outing. 

Meanwhile  Arthur  was  longing  to  see  Edith 
once  more,  and  wondering  why  she  had  stopped 
coming. 

The  Major  came  up  on  Friday  and  Saturday, 
but  came  alone,  and  that  left  only  the  hope  of 
seeing  Edith  at  church,  and  the  young  fellow 
worked  on  with  that  to  nerve  his  arm. 

The  family  respected  his  departure  on  Sun 
day.  They  plainly  felt  his  depression,  and 
sympathized  with  it. 

"  Walk  home  with  her.  I  would,"  said  Mrs. 
Richards,  as  he  went  through  the  kitchen. 

"  So  would  I.  Dang  me  if  I'd  stand  off," 
Richards  started  to  say,  but  Arthur  did  not  stop 
to  listen. 

As  he  rode  down  to  the  city,  he  recovered, 
naturally,  a  little  of  his  buoyancy.  Sleep  had 
rested  his  body  and  cleared  his  mind  for  action. 

He  sat  in  his  usual  place  at  the  back  of  the 
church,  and  his  heart  throbbed  painfully  as  he 
saw  her  moving  up  the  aisle,  a  miracle  of  lace 
and  coolness,  with  fragrant  linen  enveloping  her 
lovely  young  form,  so  erect  and  graceful  and 
slender.  • 

Then  his  heart  bowed  down  before  her,  not 
because  she  was  above  him  in  a  social  class — he 
did  not  admit  that — 'but  because  he  was  a  lover, 


A   MEETING  IN   THE  FOOTHILLS. 


93 


and  she  was  his  ideal.  He  was  cast  down  as 
suddenly  as  he  had  been  exalted  by  her  timid 
look  around,  as  was  her  custom,  in  order  to  bow 
to  him. 

He  stood  at  the  door  as  they  came  out, 
though  he  felt  foolish  and  boyish  in  doing  so. 
She  approached  him  with  eyes  turned  away;  but 
as  she  passed  him  she  flashed  an  appealing,  mys 
tical  look  at  him,  and,  flushing  a  radiant  pink, 
slipped  out  of  the  side  door,  leaving  him  stunned 
and  smarting  for  a  moment. 

As  he  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  away  to 
ward  the  ranch,  his  thoughts  were  busy  with  that 
strange  look  of  hers.  He  came  to  understand 
and  to  believe  at  last  that  she  appealed  to  him 
and  trusted  in  him  and  waited  for  him. 

Then  something  strong  and  masterful  rose  in 
him.  He  lifted  his  big  brown  fist  in  the  air  in  a 
resolution  which  was  like:that  of  Napoleon  when 
he  entered  Russia.  He  turned  and  rode  furious 
ly  back  toward  the  town. 

As  he  walked  up  the  gravel  path  to  the 
Thayer  house  it  seemed  like  a  castle  to  him. 
The  great  granite  portico,  the  curving  flight  of 
steps,  the  splendor  of  the  glass  above  the  door, 
all  impressed  him  with  the  terrible  gulf  between 
his  fortune  and  hers. 

He  was  met  at  the  door  by  the  girl  from  the 
table.  He  greeted  her  as  his  equal,  and  said  : 

"  Is  Miss  Newell  at  home  ?  " 

The  girl  smiled  with  perfect  knowledge  and 
sympathy.  She  was  on  his  side  ;  and  she  knew, 


94  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

besides,  how  much  it  meant  to  have  the  hired 
man  come  in  at  the  front  door. 

"  Yes,  she's  at  dinner.  Won't  you  come  in, 
Mr.  Ramsey  ? " 

He  entered  without  further  words,  and  fol 
lowed  her  into  the  reception  room,  which  was 
the  most  splendid  room  he  had  ever  seen.  He 
stood  with  his  feet  upon  a  rug  which  was  worth 
more  than  his  year's  pay,  and  he  knew  it. 

"  Just  take  a  seat  here,  and  I'll  announce 
you,"  said  the  girl,  who  was  almost  trembling 
with  eagerness  to  explode  her  torpedo  of  news. 

"  Don't  disturb  them.     I'll  wait." 

But  she  had  whisked  out  of  the  room,  having 
plans  of  her  own  ;  perhaps  revenges  of  her  own. 

Arthur  listened.  He  could  not  help  it.  He 
heard  the  girl's  clear,  distinct  voice ;  the  open 
doorways  conveyed  every  word  to  him. 

"  It's  Mr.  Ramsey,  ma'am,  to  see  Miss  New 
ell." 

The  young  man's  strained  ears  heard  the 
sudden  pause  in  the  click  of  knives  and  plates. 
He  divined  the  gasps  of  astonishment  with 
which  Mrs.  Thayer's  utterance  began. 

"Well,  I  declare!  Now,  Major,  you  see 
what  I  told  you  ? " 

"  The  plucky  young  dog  !  "  said  Saulisbury, 
in  sincere  admiration. 

Mrs.  Thayer  went  on  : 

"  Now,  Mr.  Thayer,  this  is  the  result  of 
treating  your  servants  as  equals." 

The  Major  laughed. 


A   MEETING  IN   THE  FOOTHILLS.        95 

"  My  dear,  you're  a  little  precipitate.  It  may 
be  a  mistake.  The  young  man  may  be  here  to 
tell  me  one  of  the  colts  is  sick." 

"  You  don't  believe  any  such  thing !  You 
heard  what  the  girl  said —  Oh,  look  at  Edith  !  " 

There  was  a  sudden  pushing  and  scraping  of 
chairs.  Arthur  rose,  tense,  terrified.  A  little 
flurry  of  voices  followed. 

"  Here,  give  her  some  wine !  The  poor  thing ! 
No  wonder " 

Then  a  slight  pause. 

"  She's  all  right,"  said  the  Major  in  a  re 
lieved  tone.  "  Just  a  little  surprised,  that's  all." 

There  came  a  little  inarticulate  murmur  from 
the  girl,  and  then  another  pause. 

"  By  Jove  !  this  is  getting  dramatic  !  "  said 
Saulisbury. 

14  Be  quiet,  Sam,"  said  his  wife.  "  I  won't 
have  any  of  your  scoffing.  I'm  glad  there  is 
some  sincerity  of  emotion  left  in  our  city  girls." 

Mrs.  Thayer  broke  in  : 

"  Major,  you  go  right  out  there  and  send 
that  impudent  creature  away.  It's  disgraceful !  " 

Arthur  turned  cold  and  hard  as  granite.  His 
heart  rose  with  a  murderous,  slow  swell.  He 
held  his  breath,  while  the  calm,  amused  voice  of 
the  Major  replied  : 

"  But,  see  here,  my  dear,  it's  none  of  my  busi 
ness.  Mr.  Ramsey  is  an  American  citizen — I 
like  him — he  has  a  perfect  right  to  call " 

"  H'yah,  h'yah ! "  called  Saulisbury  in  a 
chuckle. 


96  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

"  He's  a  man  of  parts,  and  besides,  I  rather 
imagine  Edith  has  given  him  the  right  to  call." 

The  anger  died  out  of  Arthur's  heart,  and 
the  warm  blood  rushed  once  more  through  his 
tingling  body.  Tears  came  to  his  eyes,  and  he 
could  have  embraced  his  defender. 

"  Nothing  like  consistency,  Majah,"  said 
Saulisbury. 

"  Sam,  will  you  be  quiet  ?  " 

The  Major  went  on  : 

"  I  imagine  the  whole  matter  is  for  Edith  to 
decide.  It's  really  very  simple.  Let  her  send 
word  to  him  that  she  does  not  care  to  see  him, 
and  he'll  go  away — no  doubt  of  it." 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer.  "  Edith, 
just  tell  Mary  to  say  to  Mr.  What's-his- 
name " 

Again  that  creeping  thrill  came  into  the 
young  man's  hair.  His  world  seemed  balanced 
on  a  needle's  point. 

Then  a  chair  was  pushed  back  slowly.  There 
was  another  little  flurry.  Again  the  blood 
poured  over  him  like  a  splash  of  warm  water, 
leaving  him  cold  and  wet. 

"  Edith !  "  called  the  astonished,  startled 
voice  of  Mrs.  Thayer.  "What  are  you  going 
to  do  ? " 

"  I'm  going  to  see  him,"  said  the  girl's  firm 
voice. 

There  was  a  soft  clapping  of  two  pairs  of 
hands. 

As   she   came    through    the   portiere,    Edith 


A   MEETING  IN   THE  FOOTHILLS. 


97 


walked  like  a  princess.  There  was  amazing 
resolution  in  her  back-flung  head,  and  on  her 
face  was  the  look  of  one  who  sets  sail  into  un 
known  seas. 

Someway — somehow,  through  a  mist  of  light 
and  a  blur  of  sound,  he  met  her — and  the 
cling  of  her  arms  about  his  neck  moved  him  to 
tears. 

No  word  was  uttered  till  the  Major  called 
from  the  doorway  : 

"  Mr.  Ramsey,  Mrs.  Thayer  wants  to  know  if 
you  won't  come  and  have  some  dinner." 


A  STOP-OVER  AT    TYRE. 

I. 

ALBERT  LOHR  was  studying  the  motion  of 
the  ropes  and  lamps,  and  listening  to  the  rumble 
of  the  wheels  and  the  roar  of  the  ferocious 
wind  against  the  pane  of  glass  that  his  head 
touched.  It  was  the  midnight  train  from  Mar 
ion  rushing  toward  Warsaw  like  some  savage 
thing  unchained,  creaking,  shrieking,  and  clat 
tering  through  the  wild  storm  which  possessed 
the  whole  Mississippi  Valley. 

Albert  lost  sight  of  the  lamps  at  last,  and 
began  to  wonder  what  his  future  would  be. 
"  First  I  must  go  through  the  university  at 
Madison  ;  then  I'll  study  law,  go  into  politics, 
and  perhaps  some  time  I  may  go  to  Wash 
ington." 

In  imagination  he  saw  that  wonderful  city. 
As  a  Western  boy,  Boston  to  him  was  historic, 
New  York  was  the  great  metropolis,  but  Wash 
ington  was  the  great  American  city,  and  political 
greatness  the  only  fame. 

The  car  was  nearly  empty  :  save  here  and 
there  the  wide-awake  Western  drummer,  and 

99 


IOO  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

a  woman  with  four  fretful  children,  the  train 
was  as  deserted  as  it  was  frightfully  cold.  The 
engine  shrieked  warningly  at  intervals,  the  train 
rumbled  hollowly  over  short  bridges  and  across 
pikes,  swung  round  the  hills,  and  plunged  with 
wild  warnings  past  little  towns  hid  in  the 
snow,  with  only  here  and  there  a  light  shining 
dimly. 

One  of  the  drummers  now  and  then  rose  up 
from  his  cramped  bed  on  the  seats,  and  swore 
dreadfully  at  the  railway  company  for  not  heat 
ing  the  cars.  The  woman  with  the  children  in 
quired  for  the  tenth  time,  "  Is  the  next  station 
Lodi  ? " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  it  is,"  snarled  the  drummer,  as 
he  jerked  viciously  at  the  strap  on  his  valise ; 
"  and  darned  glad  I  am,  too,  I  can  tell  yeh  !  I'll 
be  stiff  as  a  car-pin  if  I  stay  in  this  infernal  ice 
chest  another  hour.  I  wonder  what  the  com 
pany  think " 

At  Lodi  several  people  got  on,  among  them 
a  fat  man  and  his  pretty  daughter  abnormally 
wide  awake  considering  the  time  of  night.  She 
saw  Albert  for  the  same  reason  that  he  saw  her 
— they  were  both  young  and  good-looking. 

He  began  his  musings  again,  modified  by  this 
girl's  face.  He  had  left  out  the  feminine  ele 
ment  ;  obviously  he  must  recapitulate.  He'd 
study  law,  yes ;  but  that  would  not  prevent 
going  to  sociables  and  church  fairs.  And  at 
these  fairs  the  chances  were  good  for  a  meeting 
with  a  girl.  Her  father  must  be  influential— 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  IOI 

county  judge  or  district  attorney  ;  this  would 
open  new  avenues. 

He  was  roused  by  the  sound  of  his  own 
name. 

"  Is  Albert  Lohr  in  this  car  ?  "  shouted  the 
brakeman,  coming  in,  enveloped  in  a  cloud  of 
fine  snow. 

"  Yes,  here  !  "  shouted  Albert. 

"  Here's  a  telegram  for  you." 

Albert  snatched  the  envelope  with  a  sudden 
fear  of  disaster  at  home ;  but  it  was  dated 
"  Tyre  "  : 

"  Get  off  at  Tyre.     I'll  be  there. 

"  HARTLEY." 

"Well,  now,  that's  fun!"  said  Albert,  look 
ing  at  the  brakeman.  "  When  do  we  reach 
there  ? " 

"  About  2.20." 

"  Well,  by  thunder  !     A  pretty  time  o'  night !  " 

The  brakeman  grinned  sympathetically, 
"  Any  answer  ?  "  he  asked  at  length. 

"  No ;  that  is,  none  that  'u'd  do  the  matr 
ter  justice,"  Albert  said,  studying  the  tele 
gram. 

"  Hartley  friend  o'  yours  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  know  him  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  he  boarded  where  I  did  in  Warsaw." 

When  he  came  back  again,  the  brakeman  said 
to  Albert,  in  a  hesitating  way  : 

"  Ain't  going  t'  stop  off  long,  I  s'pose  ?  "  -   - 


102  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

"  May  an'  may  not ;  depends  on  Hartley. 
Why  ? " 

"Well,  I've  got  an  aunt  there  that  keeps 
boarders,  and  I  kind  o'  like  t'  send  her  one 
when  I  can.  If  you  should  happen  to  stay  a 
few  days,  go  an'  see  her.  She  sets  up  first-class 
grub,  an'  it  wouldn't  kill  anybody,  anyhow,  if 
you  went  up  an*  called." 

"  Course  not.  If  I  stay  long  enough  to  make 
it  pay  I'll  look  her  up  sure.  I  ain't  no  Vander- 
bilt  to  stop  at  two-dollar-a-day  hotels." 

The  brakeman  sat  down  opposite  Albert,  en 
couraged  by  his  smile. 

"  Y'  see,  my  division  ends  at  Warsaw,  and  I 
run  back  and  forth  here  every  other  day,  but  I 
don't  get  much  chance  to  see  them,  and  I  ain't 
worth  a  cuss  f'r  letter-writin'.  Y'  see,  she's  only 
aunt  by  marriage,  but  I  like  her ;  an'  I  guess 
she's  got  about  all  she  can  stand  up  under,  an* 
so  I  like  t'  help  her  a  little  when  I  can.  The 
old  man  died  owning  nothing  but  the  house, 
an'  that  left  the  old  lady  t'  rustle  f'r  her  livin'. 
Dummed  if  she  ain't  sandy  as  old  Sand.  They're 
gitt'n'  along  purty " 

The  whistle  blew  for  brakes,  and,  seizing  his 
lantern,  the  brakeman  slammed  out  on  the  plat 
form. 

u  Tough  night  for  twisting  brakes,"  suggested 
Albert,  when  he  came  in  again. 

«  Yes— on  the  freight." 

"  Good  heavens !  I  should  say  so.  They 
don't  run  freight  such  nights  as  this  ? " 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  103 

"  Don't  they  ?  Well,  I  guess  they  don't  stop 
for  a  storm  like  this  if  they's  any  money  to  be 
made  by  sending  her  through.  Many's  the  night 
I've  broke  all  night  on  top  of  the  old  wooden 
cars,  when  the  wind  cut  like  a  razor.  Shear  the 
hair  off  a  cast-iron  mule  —  woo-o-o!  There's 
where  you  need  grit,  old  man,"  he  ended,  drop 
ping  into  familiar  speech. 

"  Yes  ;  or  need  a  job  awful  bad." 

The  brakeman  was  struck  with  this  idea. 
"  There's  where  you're  right.  A  fellow  don't 
take  that  kind  of  a  job  for  the  fun  of  it.  Not 
much  !  He  takes  it  because  he's  got  to.  That's 
as  sure's  you're  a  foot  high.  I  tell  you,  a 
feller's  got  t'  rustle  these  days  if  he  gits  any 
kind  of  a  job " 

"  Toot,  too-o-o-o-t,  toot!  " 

The  station  passed,  the  brakeman  did  not  re 
turn,  perhaps  because  he  found  some  other  lis 
tener,  perhaps  because  he  was  afraid  of  boring 
this  pleasant  young  fellow.  Albert  shuddered 
with  a  sympathetic  pain  as  he  thought  of  the 
men  on  the  tops  of  the  icy  cars,  with  hands 
straining  at  the  brake,  and  the  wind  cutting 
their  faces  like  a  sand-blast.  His  mind  went  out 
to  the  thousands  of  freight  trains  shuttling  to 
and  fro  across  the  vast  web  of  gleaming  iron 
spread  out  on  the  mighty  breast  of  the  Western 
plains.  Oh,  those  tireless  hands  at  the  wheel 
and  throttle ! 

He  looked  at  his  watch  ;  it  was  two  o'clock  ; 
the  next  station  was  Tyre.  As  he  began  to 


104 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


get  his  things  together,  the  brakeman  came 
in. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  to  say  that  the  old  lady's 
name  is  Welsh — Mrs.  Robert  Welsh.  Say  I 
sent  yeh,  and  it'll  be  all  right." 

"  Sure  !  I'll  try  her  in  the  morning — that  is, 
if  I  find  out  I'm  going  to  stay." 

"  Tyre  !  Tyre  !  "  yelled  the  brakeman,  as 
with  clanging  bell  and  whizz  of  steam  the  train 
slowed  down  and  the  wheels  began  to  cry  out  in 
the  snow. 

Albert  got  his  things  together,  and  pulled  his 
cap  firmly  down  on  his  head. 

"  Here  goes  !  "  he  muttered. 

"  Hold  y'r  breath  !  "  shouted  the  brakeman. 
Albert  swung  himself  to  the  platform  before  the 
station — a  platform  of  planks  along  which  the 
snow  was  streaming  like  water. 

"  Good  night !  "  called  the  brakeman. 

"  Good  night !  " 

"  All-1  abo-o-o-ard  !  "  called  the  conductor 
somewhere  in  the  storm  ;  the  brakeman  swung 
his  lantern,  and  the  train  drew  off  into  the  blind 
ing  whirl,  and  the  lights  were  soon  lost  in  the 
clouds  of  snow. 

No  more  desolate  place  could  well  be  im 
agined.  A  level  plain,  apparently  bare  of  houses, 
swept  by  a  ferocious  wind ;  a  dingy  little  den 
called  a  station — no  other  shelter  in  sight ;  no 
sign  of  life  save  the  dull  glare  of  two  windows 
to  the  left,  alternately  lost  and  found  in  the 
storm. 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE. 


105 


Albert's  heart  contracted  with  a  sudden  fear  ; 
the  outlook  was  appalling. 

"Where's  the  town  ?"  he  yelled  savagely  at 
a  dimly  seen  figure  with  a  lantern — a  man  evi 
dently  locking  the  station  door,  his  only  refuge. 

"  Over  there,"  was  the  surly  reply. 

"  How  far  ?  " 

"  'Bout  a  mile." 

"  A  mile  !  " 

"  That's  what  I  said — a  mile." 

"Well,  I'll  be  blanked!" 

"Well,  y'  better  be  doing  something  besides 
standing  here,  'r  y'  '11  freeze  t'  death.  I'd  go 
over  to  the  Arteeshun  House  an'  go  t'  bed  if  I 
was  in  your  fix." 

"  Oh,  y'  would  !  " 

"I  would." 

"  Well,  where  is  the  Artesian  House  ?  " 

"  See  them  lights  ?  " 

"  I  see  them  lights." 

"Well,  they're  it." 

"  Oh,  wouldn't  your  grammar  make  Old 
Grammati-cuss  curl  up,  though  !  " 

"  What  say  ? "  queried  the  man,  bending  his 
head  toward  Albert,  his  form  being  almost 
lost  in  the  snow  that  streamed  against  them 
both. 

"  I  said  I  guessed  I'd  try  it,"  grinned  the 
youth  invisibly. 

"Well,  I  would  if  I  was  in  your  fix.     Keep 
right  close  after  me  ;  they's  some  ditches  here, 
and  the  foot-bridges  are  none  too  wide." 
8 


I06  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

"  The  Artesian  is  owned  by  the  railway,  eh  ? " 

"  Yup." 

"  And  you're  the  clerk  ?  " 

"  Yup  ;  nice  little  scheme,  ain't  it  ?" 

"Well,  it'll  do,"  replied  Albert. 

The  man  laughed  without  looking  around. 

"  Keep  your  longest  cuss  words  till  morning; 
you'll  need  'em,  take  my  word  for  it." 

In  the  little  barroom,  lighted  by  a  vilely 
smelling  kerosene  lamp,  the  clerk,  hitherto  a 
shadow  and  a  voice,  came  to  light  as  a  middle- 
aged  man  with  a  sullen  face  slightly  belied  by  a 
sly  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"  This  beats  all  the  winters  I  ever  did  see.  It 
don't  do  nawthin'  but  blow,  blow.  Want  to  go 
to  bed,  I  s'pose.  Well,  come  along." 

He  took  up  one  of  the  absurd  little  lamps 
and  tried  to  get  more  light  out  of  it. 

"  Dummed  if  a  white  bean  wouldn't  be  bet 
ter." 

"  Spit  on  it !  "  suggested  Albert. 

"  I'd  throw  the  whole  business  out  o'  the 
window  for  a  cent,"  growled  the  man. 

"  Here's  y'r  cent,"  said  the  boy. 

"  You're  mighty  frisky  f'r  a  feller  gitt'n' 
off' n  a  midnight  train,"  replied  the  man,  tramp 
ing  along  a  narrow  hallway,  and  talking  in  a 
voice  loud  enough  to  awaken  every  sleeper  in 
the  house. 

"  Have  t'  be,  or  there'd  be  a  pair  of  us." 

"  You'll  laugh  out  o'  the  other  side  o'  y'r 
mouth  when  you  saw  away  on  one  o'  the  bell- 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE. 


TO; 


collar  steaks  this  house  puts  up,"  ended  the 
clerk  as  he  put  the  lamp  down. 

"  '  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  there- 
off,'  "  called  Albert  after  him,  and  then  plunged 
into  the  icy  bed. 

He  was  awakened  the  next  morning  by  the 
cooks  pounding  steak  down  in  the  kitchen  and 
wrangling  over  some  division  of  duty.  It  was 
a  vile  place  at  any  time,  but  on  a  morning  like 
this  it  was  appalling.  The  water  was  frozen, 
the  floor  like  ice,  the  seven-by-nine  glass  frosted 
so  that  he  couldn't  see  to  comb  his  hair. 

"  All  that  got  me  out  of  bed,"  said  Albert  to 
the  clerk,  "  was  the  thought  of  leaving." 

"  Got  y'r  teeth  filed  ?  "  said  the  day  clerk, 
with  a  wink.  "  Old  Collins's  beef  will  try 
'em." 

The  breakfast  was  incredibly  bad — so  much 
worse  than  he  expected  that  Albert  was  forced 
to  admit  he  had  never  seen  its  like.  He  fled 
from  the  place  without  a  glance  behind,  and 
took  passage  in  an  omnibus  for  the  town,  a  mile 
away.  It  was  terribly  cold,  the  thermometer 
twenty  below  zero  ;  but  the  sun  was  very  bril 
liant,  and  the  air  still. 

The  driver  pulled  up  before  a  very  ambitious 
wooden  hotel  entitled  "  The  Eldorado,"  and 
Albert  dashed  in  at  the  door  and  up  to  the  stove, 
with  both  hands  covering  his  ears. 

As  he  stood  there,  frantic  with  pain,  kicking 
his  toes  and  rubbing  his  ears,  he  heard  a  chuckle 
— a  slow,  sly,  insulting  chuckle — turned,  and 


I0g  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

saw  Hartley  standing  in  the  doorway,  visibly 
exulting  over  his  misery. 

"  Hello,  Bert !  that  you  ?  " 

"What's  left  of  me.  Say,  you're  a  good  one, 
you  are  ?  Why  didn't  you  telegraph  me  at 
Marion  ?  A  deuce  of  a  night  I've  had  of  it  !  " 

"  Do  ye  good,"  laughed  Hartley,  a  tall,  alert, 
handsome  fellow  nearly  thirty  years  of  age. 

After  a  short  and  vigorous  "  blowing  up," 
Albert  said  :  "  Well,  now,  what's  the  meaning 
of  all  this,  anyhow  ?  Why  this  change  from 
Racine  ? " 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  got  wind  of  another  fel 
low  going  to  work  this  county  for  a  '  Life  of 
Logan,'  and  thinks  I,  '  By  jinks !  I'd  better 
drop  in  ahead  of  him  with  Elaine's  "  Twenty 
Years."  '  I  telegraphed  f'r  territory,  got  it,  and 
telegraphed  to  stop  you." 

"  You  did  it.     When  did  you  come  down  ?  " 

"  Last  night,  six  o'clock." 

Albert  was  getting  warmer  and  better-na- 
tured. 

"  Well,  I'm  here ;  what  ye  going  t'  do  with 
me?" 

"  I'll  use  you  some  way ;  can't  tell.  First 
thing  is  to  find  a  boarding  place  where  we  can 
work  in  a  couple  o'  books  on  the  bill." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,  but  I'm 
going  to  look  up  a  place  a  brakeman  gave  me  a 
pointer  on." 

"  All  right ;  here  goes  !  " 

Scarcely  any  one  was  stirring  on  the  streets. 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE. 


The  wind  was  pitilessly  cold,  though  not  strong. 
The  snow  under  the  feet  cried  out  with  a  note 
like  glass  and  steel.  The  windows  of  the  stores 
were  thick  with  frost,  and  Albert  gave  a  shudder 
of  fear,  almost  as  if  he  were  homeless.  He  had 
never  experienced  anything  like  it  before. 

Entering  one  of  the  stores,  they  found  a 
group  of  men  sitting  about  the  stove,  smok 
ing,  chatting,  and  spitting  aimlessly  into  a  huge 
spittoon  made  of  boards  and  filled  with  saw 
dust.  Each  man  suspended  smoking  and  talk 
ing  as  the  strangers  entered. 

"  Can  any  of  you  gentlemen  tell  us  where 
Mrs.  Welsh  lives  ?  " 

There  was  a  silence  ;  then  the  clerk  behind 
the  counter  said  : 

"  I  guess  so.  Two  blocks  north  and  three 
west,  next  to  last  house  on  left-hand  side." 

"  Clear  as  a  bell  !  "  laughed  Hartley,  and 
they  pushed  out  into  the  cold  again,  drawing 
their  mufflers  up  to  their  eyes. 

"  I  don't  want  much  of  this,"  muttered  Bert 
through  his  scarf. 

The  house  was  a  large  frame  house  standing 
on  the  edge  of  a  bank,  and  as  the  young  men 
waited  they  could  look  down  on  the  meadow 
land,  where  the  river  lay  blue  and  still  and  as 
hard  as  iron. 

.A  pale  little  girl  ten,  or  twelve  years  of  age, 
let  them  in. 

"  Is  this  where  Mrs.  Welsh  lives  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 


1 10  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

"  Will  you  ask  her  to  come  here  a  moment  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  piped  the  little  one.  "Won't  you 
sit  down  by  the  fire  ?  "  she  added,  with  a  quaint 
air  of  hospitality. 

The  room  was  the  usual  village  sitting  room : 
a  cylinder  heater  full  of  wood  at  one  side  of  it; 
a  rag  carpet,  much  faded,  on  the  floor  ;  a  cab 
inet  organ  ;  a  doleful  pair  of  crayon  portraits 
on  the  wall,  one  supposedly  a  baby — a  figure 
dressed  like  a  child  of  six  months,  but  with  a 
face  old  and  cynical  enough  to  be  forty-five. 
The  paper  on  the  wall  was  of  the  hideous  striped 
sort,  and  the  chairs  were  nondescript ;  but  every 
thing  was  clean — so  clean  it  looked  worn  more 
with  brushing  than  with  use. 

A  slim  woman  of  fifty,  with  hollow  eyes  and 
a  patient  smile,  came  in,  wiping  her  hands  on  her 
apron. 

"  How  d'ye  do  ?     Did  you  want  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Hartley,  smiling.  "  The  fact  is, 
we're  book  agents,  and  looking  for  a  place  to 
board." 

«  Well — a — I — yes,  I  keep  boarders." 

"  I  was  sent  here  by  a  brakeman  on  the  mid 
night  express,"  put  in  Bert. 

"  Oh,  Tom,"  said  the  woman,  her  face  clear 
ing.  "  Tom's  always  sending  us  people.  Why, 
yes  ;  I've  got  room  for  you,  I  guess — this  room 
here."  She  pushed  open  a  folding  door  leading 
into  what  had  been  her  parlor. 

"  You  can  have  this." 

"  And  the  price  ?  " 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  IIr 

"  Four  dollars." 

"  Eight  dollars  f'r  the  two  of  us.  All  right ; 
we'll  be  with  you  a  week  or  two  if  we  have 
luck." 

The  woman  smiled  and  shut  the  door.  Bert 
thought  how  much  she  looked  like  his  mother 
in  the  back — the  same  tired  droop  in  the  shoul 
ders,  the  same  colorless  dress,  once  blue  or 
brown,  now  a  peculiar  drab,  characterless  with 
much  washing. 

"  Excuse  me,  won't  you  ?  I've  got  to  be  at 
my  baking;  make  y'rselves  at  home." 

"  Now,  Jim,"  said  Bert,  "  I'm  going  t'  stay 
right  here  while  you  go  and  order  our  trunks 
around — just  t'  pay  you  off  f'r  last  night." 

"All  right,"  said  Hartley,  cheerily  going  out. 
After  getting  warm,  Bert  sat  down  at  the  organ 
and  played  a  gospel  hymn  or  two  from  the 
Moody  and  Sankey  hymnal.  He  was  in  the 
midst  of  the  chorus  of  "  Let  your  lower  lights," 
etc.,  when  a  young  woman  entered  the  room. 
She  had  a  whisk-broom  in  her  hand,  and  stood  a 
picture  of  gentle  surprise.  Bert  wheeled  about 
on  his  stool. 

"  I  thought  it  was  Stella,"  she  began. 

"  I'm  a  book  agent,"  said  Bert,  rising  with 
his  best  grace ;  "  I  might  as  well  out  with  it. 
I'm  here  to  board." 

.  "  Oh  !  "  said  the  girl,  with  some  relief.  She 
was  very  fair  and  very  slight,  almost  frail.  Her 
eyes  were  of  the  sunniest  blue,  her  face  pale 
and  somewhat  thin,  but  her  lips  showed  scarlet, 


H2  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

and  her  teeth  were  fine.  Bert  liked  her  and 
smiled. 

"  A  book  agent  is  the  next  thing  to  a  burglar, 
I  know  ;  but  still " 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that,  but  I  was  surprised. 
When  did  you  come  ?  " 

"  Just  a  few  moments  ago.  Am  I  in  your 
way  ?  "  he  inquired,  with  elaborate  solicitude. 

"  Oh,  no  !  Please  go  on  ;  you  play  very  well, 
I  think.  It  is  so  seldom  young  men  play." 

"  I  had  to  at  college  ;  the  other  fellows  all 
wanted  to  sing.  You  play,  of  course." 

"  When  I  have  time."  She  sighed.  There 
was  a  weary  droop  in  her  voice ;  she  seemed 
aware  of  it,  and  said  more  brightly  : 

"  You  mean  Marion,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I'm  in  my  second  year." 

"  I  went  there  two  years.  Then  I  had  to 
quit  and  come  home  to  help  mother." 

"  Did  you  ?  That's  why  I'm  out  here  on  this 
infernal  book  business — to  get  money." 

She  looked  at  him  with  interest  now,  noticing 
his  fine  eyes  and  waving  brown  hair. 

"  It's  dreadful,  isn't  it  ?  But  you've  got  a 
hope  to  go  back.  I  haven't.  At  first  I  didn't 
think  I  could  live  ;  but  I  did."  She  ended  with 
a  sigh,  a  far-off  expression  in  her  eyes. 

There  was  a  pause  again.  Bert  felt  that  she 
was  no  ordinary  girl,  and  she  was  quite  as  strong 
ly  drawn  to  him. 

"  It  almost  killed  me  to  give  it  up.  I  don't 
s'pose  I'd  know  any  of  the  scholars  you  know. 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  113 

Even  the  teachers  are  not  the  same.  Oh,  yes — 
Sarah  Shaw  ;  I  think  she's  back  for  the  normal 
course." 

"Oh,  yes!"  exclaimed  Bert,  "I  know  Sa 
rah.  We  boarded  on  the  same  street ;  used  t' 
go  home  together  after  class.  An  awful  nice 
girl,  too." 

"  She's  a  worker.  She  teaches  school.  I 
can't  do  that,  for  mother  needs  me  at  home." 
There  was  another  pause,  broken  by  the  little 
girl,  who  called  : 

"  Maud,  mamma  wants  you." 

Maud  rose  and  went  out,  with  a  tired  smile 
on  her  face  that  emphasized  her  resemblance 
to  her  mother.  Bert  couldn't  forget  that 
smile,  and  he  was  still  thinking  about  the 
girl,  and  what  her  life  must  be,  when  Hartley 
came  in. 

"  By  jinks  !  It's  sniffy,  as  dad  used  to  say. 
You  can't  draw  a  long  breath  through  your  nos 
trils  ;  freeze  y'r  nose  solid  as  a  bottle,"  he  an 
nounced,  throwing  off  his  coat  with  an  air  which 
seemed  to  make  him  an  old  resident  of  the 
room. 

"  By  the  way,  I've  just  found  out  why  you 
was  so  anxious  to  get  into  this  house,  hey  ? " 
he  said,  slapping  Bert's  knee.  "  Another  case  o' 
girl- 
Bert  blushed  ;  he  couldn't  help  it,  notwith 
standing  his  innocence  in  this  case.  Hartley 
went  on. 

"  Oh,   I   know   you  !     A  girl   in  the  house ; 


II4  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

might  'a'  known  it,"  Hartley  continued,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper. 

"  I  didn't  know  it  myself  till  about  ten  min 
utes  ago,"  protested  Bert. 

Hartley  winked  prodigiously. 

"  Don't  tell  me  !     Is  she  pretty  ?  " 

"  No — that  is,  you  wouldn't  call  her  so." 

"  Oh,  the  deuce  I  wouldn't !  Don't  you  wish 
I  wouldn't  ?  I'd  like  to  see  the  girl  I  wouldn't 
call  pretty,  right  to  her  face,  too." 

The  girl  returned  at  this  moment  with  an 
armful  of  wood. 

"  Let  me  put  it  in."  cried  Hartley,  springing 
up.  "  Excuse  me.  My  name  is  Hartley,  book 
agent :  Elaine's  '  Twenty  Years,'  plain  cloth, 
sprinkled  edges,  three  dollars  ;  half  calf,  three 
fifty.  This  is  my  friend  Mr.  Lohr,  of  Marion; 
German  extraction,  soph  at  the  university." 

The  girl  bowed  and  smiled,  and  pushed  by 
him  toward  the  door  of  the  parlor.  Hartley 
followed  her  in,  and  Bert  could  hear  them  rat 
tling  away  at  the  stove. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down  and  play  for  us  ? " 
asked  Hartley,  after  they  returned  to  the  sit 
ting  room,  with  the  persuasive  music  of  the 
book  agent  in  his  fine  voice. 

"  Oh,  no  !  It's  nearly  dinner  time,  and  I  must 
help  about  the  table." 

"  Now  make  yourselves  at  home,"  said  Mrs. 
Welsh,  appearing  at  the  door  leading  to  the 
kitchen  ;  "  if  you  want  anything,  just  let  me 
know." 


A    STOP-0  VER  A  T   TYRE.  j  T  5 

"All  right.  We  will ;  don't  worry.  We'll  be 
trouble  enough. — Nice  people,"  said  Hartley,  as 
he  shut  the  door  of  their  room  and  sat  down. 
"  But  the  girl  aint  what  I  call  pretty." 

By  the  time  the  dinner  bell  rang  they  were 
feeling  at  home  in  their  new  quarters.  At  the 
table  they  met  the  other  boarders  :  the  Brann 
brothers,  newsdealers ;  old  man  Troutt,  who 
kept  the  livery  stable  (and  smelled  of  it)  ;  and 
a  small,  dark,  and  wizened  woman  who  kept  the 
millinery  store.  The  others,  who  came  in  late, 
were  clerks. 

Maud  served  the  dinner,  while  Stella  and  her 
mother  waited  upon  the  table.  Albert  was  ac 
customed  to  this,  and  made  little  account  of  the 
service.  He  did  notice  the  hands  of  the  girl, 
however,  so  white  and  graceful ;  no  amount  of 
work  could  quite  remove  their  essential  shape 
liness. 

Hartley  struck  up  a  conversation  with  the 
newsdealers  and  left  Bert  free  to  observe  Maud. 
She  was  not  more  than  twenty,  he  decided,  but 
she  looked  older,  so  careworn  and  sad  was  her 
face. 

"They's  one  thing  ag'in'  yeh,"  Troutt,  the 
liveryman,  was  bawling  to  Hartley  :  «•'  they's  jest 
been  worked  one  o'  the  goldingedest  schemes 
you  ever  see  !  'Bout  six  munce  ago  s'm'  fellers 
come  all  through  here  claimin'  t'  be  after  in 
formation  about  the  county  and  the  leadin' 
citizens  ;  wanted  t'  write  a  history,  an'  wanted 
all  the  pitchers  of  the  leading  men,  old  settlers, 


1 1 6  WA  YSIDE   CO  UR  T SHIPS. 

an'  so  on.  You  paid  ten  dollars,  an'  you  had 
a  book  an'  your  pitcher  in  it." 

"  I  know  the  scheme,"  grinned  Hartley. 

"  Wai,  sir,  I  s'pose  them  fellers  roped  in 
every  man  in  this  town.  I  don't  s'pose  they 
got  out  with  a  cent  less'n  one  thousand  dol 
lars.  An'  when  the  book  come — wal !  "  Here 
he  stopped  to  roar.  "  I  don't  s'pose  you  ever 
see  a  madder  lot  o'  men  in  your  life.  In  the 
first  place,  they  got  the  names  and  the  pitchers 
mixed  so  that  I  was  Judge  Ricker,  an'  Judge 
Ricker  was  ol'  man  Daggett.  Didn't  the  judge 
swear — oh,  it  was  awful !  " 

"  I  should  say  so." 

"  An'  the  pitchers  that  wa'n't  mixed  was  so 
goldinged  black  you  couldn't  tell  'em  from  nig 
gers.  You  know  how  kind  o'  lily-livered  Law 
yer  Ransom  is  ?  Wal,  he  looked  like  ol'  black 
Joe;  he  was  the  maddest  man  of  the  hull  b'ilin'. 
He  throwed  the  book  in  the  fire,  and  tromped 
around  like  a  blind  bull." 

"  It  wasn't  a  success,  I  take  it,  then.  Why, 
I  should  'a'  thought  they'd  'a'  nabbed  the  fel 
lows." 

"  Not  much  !  They  was  too  keen  for  that. 
They  didn't  deliver  the  books  tr^eirselves  ;  they 
hired  Dick  Bascom  to  do  it  f'r  them.  Course 
Dick  wa'n't  t'  blame." 

"  No  ;  I  never  tried  it  before,"  Albert  was 
saying  to  Maud,  at  their  end  of  the  table. 
"  Hartley  offered  me  a  good  thing  to  come, 
and  as  I  needed  money,  I  came.  I  don't 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE. 


117 


know  what  he's  going  to  do  with  me,  now  I'm 
here." 

Albert  did  not  go  out  after  dinner  with  Hart 
ley;  it  was  too  cold.  Hartley  let  nothing  stand 
in  the  way  of  business,  however.  He  had  been 
at  school  with  Albert  during  his  first  year, 
but  had  gone  back  to  work  in  preference  to 
study. 

Albert  had  brought  his  books  with  him,  plan 
ning  to  keep  up  with  his  class,  if  possible,  and 
was  deep  in  a  study  of  Caesar  when  he  heard  a 
timid  knock  on  the  door. 

"  Come  !  "  he  called,  student  fashion. 

Maud  entered,  her  face  aglow. 

"  How  natural  that  sounds  !  "  she  said. 

Albert  sprang  up  to  help  her  put  down  the 
wood  in  her  arms.  "  I  wish  you'd  let  me  bring 
the  wood,"  he  said  pleadingly,  as  she  refused  his 
aid. 

"  I  wasn't  sure  you  were  in.  Were  you  read 
ing  ?" 

"  Caesar,"  he  replied,  holding  up  the  book. 
"  I  am  conditioned  on  Latin.  I'm  going  over 
the  *  Commentaries  '  again." 

"  I  thought  I  knew  the  book,"  she  laughed. 

"  You  read  Latin  ?  " 

"Yes,  a  little— Vergil." 

"  Maybe  you  can  help  me  out  on  these  oratia 
obliqua.  They  bother  me  yet.  I  hate  these 
*  Caesar  saids.'  I  like  Vergil  better." 

She  stood  at  his  shoulder  while  he  pointed 
out  the  knotty  passage.  She  read  it  easily,  and 


Il8  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

he  thanked  her.  It  was  amazing  how  well  ac 
quainted  they  felt  after  this ;  they  were  as  fel 
low-students. 

The  wind  roared  outside  in  the  bare  maples, 
and  the  fire  boomed  in  its  pent  place  within. 
The  young  people  forgot  the  time  and  place. 
The  girl  sank  into  a  chair  almost  unconsciously 
as  they  talked  of  Madison — a  great  city  to  them 
— of  the  Capitol  building,  of  the  splendid  cam 
pus,  of  the  lakes  and  the  gay  sailing  there  in 
summer  and  ice-boating  in  winter,  of  the  strug 
gles  of  "  rooming." 

"  Oh,  it  makes  me  homesick  !  "  cried  the  girl, 
with  a  deep  sigh.  "  It  was  the  happiest,  sun 
niest  time  of  all  my  life.  Oh,  those  walks  and 
talks  !  Those  recitations  in  the  dear,  chalky  old 
rooms  !  Oh,  how  I  would  like  to  go  back  over 
that  hollow  doorstone  again  !  " 

She  broke  off,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  He 
was  obliged  to  cough  two  or  three  times  before 
he  could  break  the  silence. 

"  I  know  just  how  you  feel.  I  know,  the 
first  spring  when  I  went  back  on  the  farm,  it 
seemed  as  if  I  couldn't  stand  it.  I  thought 
I'd  go  crazy.  The  days  seemed  forty-eight 
hours  long.  It  was  so  lonesome,  and  so 
dreary  on  rainy  days !  But  of  course  I  ex 
pected  to  go  back ;  that's  what  kept  me  up. 
I  don't  think  I  could  have  stood  it  if  I  hadn't 
had  hope." 

"  I've  given  it  up  now,"  she  said  plaintively  ; 
"  it's  no  use  hoping." 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE. 


"Why  don't  you  teach  ?"  asked  Albert,  deep 
ly  affected  by  her  voice  and  manner. 

"  I  did  teach  here  for  a  year,  but  I  couldn't 
endure  the  noise  ;  I'm  not  very  strong,  and  the 
boys  were  so  rude.  If  I  could  teach  in  a  semi 
nary  —  teach  Latin  and  English  —  I  should  be 
happy,  I  think.  But  I  can't  leave  mother  now." 

She  began  to  appear  a  different  girl  in  the 
boy's  eyes  ;  the  cheap  dress,  the  check  apron, 
could  not  hide  her  pure  intellectual  spirit.  Her 
large  blue  eyes  were  deep  with  thought,  and 
the  pale  face,  lighted  by  the  glow  of  the  fire, 
was  as  lovely  as  a  rose.  Almost  before  he  knew 
it,  he  was  telling  her  of  his  life. 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  endured  it  as  long  as  I 
did,"  he  went  on,  "  It  was  nothing  but  work, 
work,  and  mud  the  whole  year  round;  it's  just 
so  on  all  farms." 

"  Yes,  I  guess  it  is,"  said  she.  "  Father  was 
a  carpenter,  and  I've  always  lived  here  ;  but  we 
have  people  who  are  farmers,  and  I  know  how  it 
is  with  them." 

**  Why,  when  I  think  of  it  now  it  makes  me 
crawl  !  To  think  of  getting  up  in  the  morning 
before  daylight,  and  going  out  to  the  barn  to 
do  chores,  to  get  ready  to  go  into  the  field  to 
work  !  Working,  wasting  y'r  life  on  dirt.  Coin' 
round  and  round  in  a  circle,  and  never  getting 
out." 

"  It's  just  the  same  for  us  women,"  she  cor 
roborated.  "  Think  of  us  going  around  the 
house  day  after  day,  and  doing  just  the  same 


120  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

things  over  an'  over,  year  after  year  !  That's 
the  whole  of  most  women's  lives.  Dish-washing 
almost  drives  me  crazy." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Albert;  "  but  a  fellow 
has  t'  do  it.  If  his  folks  are  workin'  hard,  why, 
of  course  he  can't  lay  around  and  study.  They're 
not  to  blame.  I  don't,  know  that  anybody's  to 
blame." 

"  No,  I  don't ;  but  it  makes  me  sad  to  see 
mother  going  around  as  she  does,  day  after  day. 
She  won't  let  me  do  as  much  as  I  would."  The 
girl  looked  at  her  slender  hands.  "  You  see, 
I'm  not  very  strong.  It  makes  my  heart  ache  to 
see  her  going  around  in  that  quiet,  patient  way  ; 
she's  so  good." 

"  I  know,  I  know  !  I've  felt  just  like  that 
about  my  mother  and  father,  too." 

There  was  a  long  pause,  full  of  deep  feeling, 
and  then  the  girl  continued  in  a  low,  hesitating 
voice : 

"  Mother's  had  an  awful  hard  time  since 
father  died.  We  had  to  go  to  keeping  boarders, 
which  was  hard — very  hard  for  mother."  The 
boy  felt  a  sympathetic  lump  in  his  throat  as  the 
girl  went  on  again  :  "  But  she  doesn't  complain, 
and  she  didn't  want  me  to  come  home  from 
school ;  but  of  course  I  couldn't  do  anything 
else." 

It  didn't  occur  to  either  of  them  that  any 
other  course  was  open,  nor  that  there  was  any 
heroism  or  self-sacrifice  in  the  act ;  it  was  simply 
right. 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  I2I 

"Well,  I'm  not  going  to  drudge  all  my  life," 
said  the  boy  at  last.  "  I  know  it's  kind  o'  self 
ish,  but  I  can't  live  on  a  farm ;  it  Vd  kill  me  in 
a  year.  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  study  law  and 
enter  the  bar.  Lawyers  manage  to  get  hold  of 
enough  to  live  on  decently,  and  that's  more 
than  you  can  say  of  the  farmers.  And  they 
live  in  town,  where  something  is  going  on  once 
in  a  while,  anyway." 

In  the  pause  which  followed,  footsteps  were 
heard  on  the  walk  outside,  and  the  girl  sprang 
up  with  a  beautiful  blush. 

"  My  stars  !  I  didn't  think — I  forgot— I 
must  go." 

Hartley  burst  into  the  room  shortly  after  she 
left  it,  in  his  usual  breeze. 

"  Hul-/*/     Still  at  the  Latin,  hey  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Bert,  with  ease.  "  How  goes 
it?" 

"  Oh,  I'm  whooping  'er  up !  I'm  getting 
started  in  great  shape.  Been  up  to  the  court 
house  and  roped  in  three  of  the  county  offi 
cials.  In  these  small  towns  the  big  man  is  the 
politician  or  the  clergyman.  I've  nailed  the 
politicians  through  the  ear ;  now  you  must  go 
for  the  ministers  to  head  the  list — that's  your 
lay-out." 

"  How  'm  I  t'  do  it  ?  "  said  Bert,  in  an  anx 
ious  tone.  "  1  can't  sell  books  if  they  don't 
want  'em." 

"Yes,  yeh  can.  That's  the  trade.  Offer  a 
big  discount.  Say  full  calf,  two  fifty  ;  morocco, 
9 


122  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

two  ninety.  Regular  discount  to  the  clergy, 
ye  know.  Oh,  they're  on  to  that  little  racket — 
no  trouble.  If  you  can  get  a  few  of  these 
leaders  of  the  flock,  the  rest  will  follow  like 
lambs  to  the  slaughter.  Tra-la-la — who-o-o-/^, 
whish  !  " 

Albert  laughed  at  Hartley  as  he  plunged 
his  face  into  the  ice-cold  water,  puffing  and 
wheezing. 

"  Jeemimy  Crickets !  but  ain't  that  water 
cold !  I  worked  Rock  River  this  way  last 
month,  and  made  a  boomin'  success.  If  you 
take  hold  here  in  the " 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  ready  to  do  anything  that  is 
needed,  short  of  being  kicked  out." 

"  No  danger  of  that  if  you're  a  real  book 
agent.  It's  the  snide  that  gets  kicked.  You've 
got  t'  have  some  savvy  in  this,  just  like  any 
other  business."  He  stopped  in  his  dressing 
to  say,  "  We've  struck  a  great  boarding  place, 
hey  ? " 

"  Looks  like  it." 

"  I  begin  t'  cotton  to  the  old  lady  a'ready. 
Good  'eal  like  mother  used  t'  be  'fore  she  broke 
down.  Didn't  the  old  lady  have  a  time  of  it 
raisin'  me  ?  Phewee  !  Patient !  Job  wasn't  a 
patchin'.  But  the  test  is  goin'  t'  come  on  the 
biscuit ;  if  her  biscuit  comes  up  t'  mother's  I'm 
hern  till  death." 

He  broke  off  to  comb  his  hair,  a  very  nice 
bit  of  work  in  his  case. 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE. 


I23 


II. 

THERE  was  no  discernible  reason  why  the 
little  town  should  have  been  called  Tyre,  and 
yet  its  name  was  as  characteristically  American 
as  its  architecture.  It  had  the  usual  main 
street  lined  with  low  brick  or  wooden  stores — a 
street  which  developed  into  a  road  running  back 
up  a  wide,  sandy  valley  away  from  the  .river. 
Being  a  county  town,  it  had  a  courthouse  in  a 
yard  near  the  center  of  the  town,  and  a  big  sum 
mer  hotel.  The  valley  was  pecularly  pictur 
esque.  Curiously  shaped  and  oddly  distributed 
hills  rose  out  of  the  valley  sand  abruptly,  form 
ing  a  sort  of  amphitheater  in  which  the  village 
lay.  These  square-topped  hills  rose  to  a  com 
mon  level,  showing  that  they  were  not  the  result 
of  an  upheaval,  but  were  the  remains  of  the 
original  stratification  left  standing  after  the  vast 
scooping  action  of  the  post-glacial  floods. 

The  abrupt  cliffs  and  lone  huge  pillars  and 
peaks  rising  out  of  tamarack  swamps  here  and 
there  showed  the  original  layers  of  rock  un 
moved.  They  looked  like  ruined  walls  of  cas 
tles  ancient  as  hills,  on  whose  massive  tops 
time  had  sown  sturdy  oaks  and  cedars.  They 
lent  a  distinct  air  of  romance  to  the  valley  at 
all  times  ;  but  when  in  summer  vines  clambered 
over  their  rugged  sides  and  underbrush  softened 
their  broken  lines,  it  was  not  at  all  difficult  to 
imagine  them  the  remains  of  an  unrecorded,  very 
warlike  people. 


124 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


Even  now,  in  winter,  with  yellow-brown  and 
green  cedars  standing  starkly  upon  their  sum 
mits,  the  hickories  and  small  ashes  blue-black 
with  their  masses  of  fine  bare  limbs  meshed 
against  the  snow,  these  towers  had  a  distinct 
charm.  The  weather  was  glorious  winter,  and 
in  the  early  morning  when  the  trees  glistened 
with  frost,  or  at  evening  when  the  white  light  of 
the  sun  was  softened  and  violet  shadows  lay 
along  the  snow,  the  whole  valley  was  a  delight 
to  the  eye,  full  of  distinct  and  lasting  charm, 
part  of  the  beautiful  and  strange  Mississippi 
River  scenery. 

In  the  campaign  which  Hartley  began  Albert 
did  his  best,  and  his  best  was  done  unconscious 
ly,  for  the  charm  of  his  manner  (all  unknown  to 
himself)  was  the  most  potent  factor  in  securing 
consideration. 

"  I'm  not  a  book  agent,"  he  said  to  one  of 
the  clergymen  to  whom  he  first  appealed ;  "  I'm 
a  student  trying  to  sell  a  good  book  and  make  a 
litfte  money  to  help  me  to  complete  my  course 
at  the  university." 

He  did  not  go  to  the  back  door,  but  walked 
up  to  the  front,  asked  to  see  the  minister,  and 
placed  his  case  at  once  before  him  with  a  smiling 
candor  and  a  leisurely  utterance  quite  the  oppo- 
sites  of  the  brazen  timidity  and  rapid,  parrot-like 
tone  of  the  professional.  He  secured  three  cler 
gymen  of  the  place  to  head  his  list,  much  to  the 
delight  and  admiration  of  Hartley. 

"  Good !      Now    corral    the   alumni    of   the 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  125 

place.  Work  the  fraternal  racket  to  the  bitter 
end.  Oh,  say !  there's  a  sociable  to-morrow 
night ;  I  guess  we'd  better  go,  hadn't  we  ?  " 

"  Go  alone  ?  " 

"Alone?  No!  Take  some  girls.  I'm  going 
to  take  neighbor  Picket's  daughter ;  she's  home 
ly  as  a  hedge  fence,  but  I'll  take  her — great 
scheme  !  " 

"  Hartley,  you're  an  infernal  fraud  !  " 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind — I'm  business,"  ended 
Hartley,  with  a  laugh. 

After  supper  the  following  day,  as  Albert 
was  still  lingering  at  the  table  with  the  girls 
and  Mrs.  Welsh,  he  thought  of  the  sociable,  and 
said  on  the  impulse  : 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  sociable  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  guess  not." 

"  Would  you  go  if  I  asked  you  ? " 

"  Try  me  and  see  !  "  answered  the  girl,  with 
a  laugh,  her  color  rising. 

"  All  right.  Miss  Welsh,  will  you  attend  the 
festivity  of  the  evening  under  my  guidance  and 
protection  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you." 

"  I'll  be  ready  before  you  are." 

"  No  doubt ;  I've  got  to  wash  the  dishes." 

"  I'll  wash  the  dishes ;  you  go  get  ready,"  said 
the  self-regardless  mother. 

Albert  felt  that  he  had  one  of  the  loveliest 
girls  in  the  room  as  he  led  Maud  down  the  floor 
of  the  vestry  of  the  church,  filled  with  laughing 
young  people  moving  about  or  seated  at  the 


126  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

long  tables.  Maud's  cheeks  were  full  of  deli 
cate  color  and  her  eyes  shone  with  maidenly 
delight  as  they  took  seats  at  the  table  to  sip  a 
little  coffee  and  nibble  a  bit  of  cake. 

"  I  suppose  they  must  have  my  fifteen  cents 
some  way,"  said  Albert,  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  I 
guess  we'd  better  sit  down." 

Maud  introduced  him  to  a  number  of  young 
people  who  had  been  students  at  the  university. 
They  received  him  cordially,  and  in  a  very  short 
time  he  was  enjoying  himself  very  well  indeed. 
He  was  reminded  rather  disagreeably  of  his 
office,  however,  by  seeing  Hartley  surrounded 
by  a  laughing  crowd  of  the  more  frolicsome 
young  people.  He  winked  at  Albert,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  Good  stroke  of  business." 

The  evening  passed  away  with  songs,  games, 
and  recitations,  and  it  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock 
when  the  young  people  began  to  wander  off  to 
ward  home  in  pairs.  Albert  and  Maud  were 
among  the  first  of  the  young  folks  to  bid  the 
rest  good  night. 

The  night  was  clear  and  cold,  but  perfectly 
still,  and  the  young  people,  arm  in  arm,  walked 
slowly  homeward  under  the  bare  maples,  in  de 
licious  companionship.  Albert  held  her  arm 
close  to  his  side. 

"  Are  you  cold  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"  No,  thank  you  ;  the  night  is  lovely,"  she 
replied  ;  then  added  with  a  sigh,  "  I  don't  like 
sociables  so  well  as  I  used  to — they  tire  me 
out." 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE. 


127 


"  We  stayed  too  long." 

"  It  wasn't  that ;  I'm  getting  so  they  seem 
kind  o'  silly." 

"Well,  I  feel  a  little  that  way  myself,"  he 
confessed. 

"  But  there  is  so  little  to  see  here  in  Tyre  at 
any  time — no  music,  no  theaters.  I  like  the 
aters,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  can't  go  half  enough." 

"  But  nothing  worth  seeing  ever  comes  into 
these  little  towns — and  then  we're  all  so  poor, 
anyway." 

The  lamp,  turned  low,  was  emitting  a  terrible 
odor  as  they  entered  the  sitting  room. 

"  My  goodness  !  it's  almost  twelve  o'clock. 
Good  night."  She  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Good  night,"  he  said,  taking  it,  and  giving 
it  a  cordial  pressure  which  she  remembered 
long. 

"  Good  night,"  she  repeated  softly,  going  up 
the  stairs. 

Hartley  came  in  a  few  moments  later,  and 
found  Bert  sitting  thoughtfully  by  the  fire,  with 
his  coat  and  shoes  off,  evidently  in  deep  abstrac 
tion. 

"  Well,  I  got  away  at  last — much  as  ever. 
Great  scheme,  that  sociable,  eh  ?  I  saw  your 
little  girl  introducing  you  right  and  left." 

"  Say,  Hartley,  I  wish  you'd  leave  her  out  of 
this  thing ;  I  don't  like  the  way  you  speak  of 
her  when " 

"  Phew  !     You  don't  ?     Oh,  all  right !      I'm 


I28  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

mum  as  an  oyster — only  keep  it  up  !  Get  in  all 
the  church  sociables,  and  all  that ;  there's  noth 
ing  like  it." 

Hartley  soon  had  canvassers  out  along  the 
country  roads,  and  was  working  every  house  in 
town.  The  campaign  promised  to  lengthen  into 
a  month,  perhaps  longer.  Albert  especially  be 
came  a  great  favorite.  Every  one  declared 
there  had  never  been  such  book  agents  in  the 
town :  such  gentlemanly  fellows,  they  didn't 
press  anybody  to  buy  ;  they  didn't  rush  about 
and  "  poke  their  noses  where  they  were  not 
wanted."  They  were  more  like  merchants  with 
books  to  sell.  The  only  person  who  failed  to 
see  the  attraction  in  them  was  Ed  Brann,  who 
was  popularly  supposed  to  be  engaged  to  Maud. 
He  grew  daily  more  sullen  and  repellent,  toward 
Albert  noticeably  so. 

One  evening  about  six,  after  coming  in  from 
a  long  walk  about  town,  Albert  entered  his 
room  without  lighting  his  lamp,  lay  down  on 
the  bed,  and  fell  asleep.  He  had  been  out  late 
the  night  before  with  Maud  at  a  party,  and 
slumber  came  almost  instantly. 

Maud  came  in  shortly,  hearing  no  response 
to  her  knock,  and  after  hanging  some  towels  on 
the  rack  went  out  without  seeing  the  sleeper.  In 
the  sitting  room  she  met  Ed  Brann.  He  was  a 
stalwart  young  man  with  curling  black  hair,  and 
a  heavy  face  at  its  best,  but  set  and  sullen  now. 
His  first  words  held  a  menace: 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE. 


I29 


"  Say,  Maud,  I  want  t'  talk  to  you." 

"  Very  well ;  what  is  it,  Ed  ? "  replied  the 
girl  quietly. 

"  I  want  to  know  how  often  you're  going 
to  be  out  till  twelve  o'clock  with  this  book 
agent  ?  " 

Perhaps  it  was  the  derisive  inflection  on 
"  book  agent  "  that  woke  Albert.  Brann's  tone 
was  brutal — more  brutal  even  than  his  words,  and 
the  girl  turned  pale  and  her  breath  quickened. 

"  Why,  Ed,  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Matter  is  just  this  :  you  ain't  got  any  busi 
ness  goin'  around  with  that  feller  with  my  ring 
on  your  finger,  that's  all."  He  ended  with  an 
unmistakable  threat  in  his  voice. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  girl,  after  a  pause, 
curiously  quiet ;  "  then  I  won't ;  here's  your 
ring." 

The  man's  bluster  disappeared  instantly. 
Bert  could  tell  by  the  change  in  his  voice, 
which  was  incredibly  great,  as  he  pleaded  : 

"  Oh,  don't  do  that,  Maud  ;  I  didn't  mean  to 
say  that ;  I  was  mad — I'm  sorry." 

"  I'm  glad  you  did  it  now,  so  I  can  know 
you.  Take  your  ring,  Ed  ;  I  never'll  wear  it 
again." 

Albert  had  heard  all  this,  but  he  did  not 
know  how  the  girl  looked  as  she  faced  the 
man.  In  the  silence  which  followed  she  looked 
him  in  the  face,  and  scornfully  passed  him  and 
went  out  into  the  kitchen.  He  did  not  return 
at  supper. 


130  WA  YSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

Young  people  of  this  sort  are  not  self-an 
alysts,  and  Maud  did  not  examine  closely  into 
causes.  She  was  astonished  to  find  herself 
more  indignant  than  grieved.  She  broke  into 
an  angry  wail  as  she  went  to  her  mother's 
bosom : 

"  Mother  !  mother  !  " 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Maudie  ?  Tell  me. 
There,  there  !  don't  cry,  pet !  Who's  been  hurtin' 
my  poor  little  bird  ?  " 

"  Ed  has  ;  he  said— he  said " 

"  There,  there  !  poor  child  !  Have  you  been 
quarreling  ?  Never  mind ;  it'll  come  out  all 
right." 

"  No,  it  won't — not  the  way  you  mean,"  the 
girl  cried,  lifting  her  head ;  "  I've  given  him 
back  his  ring,  and  I'll  never  wear  it  again." 

The  mother  could  not  understand  with  what 
wounding  brutality  the  man's  tone  had  fallen 
upon  the  girl's  spirit,  and  Maud  felt  in  some 
way  as  if  she  could  not  explain  sufficiently  to 
justify  herself.  Mrs.  Welsh  consoled  herself 
with  the  idea  that  it  was  only  a  lovers'  quarrel 
— one  of  the  little  jars  sure  to  come  when  two 
natures  are  settling  together — and  that  all  would 
be  mended  in  a  day  or  two. 

But  there  was  a  peculiar  set  look  on  the 
girl's  face  that  promised  little  for  Brann.  Al 
bert,  being  no  more  of  a  self-analyst  than  Maud, 
simply  said,  "  Served  him  right,"  and  dwelt  no 
more  upon  it  for  the  time. 

At  supper,  however,  he   was  extravagantly 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  i^\ 

gay,  and  to  himself  unaccountably  so.  He 
joked  Troutt  till  Maud  begged  him  to  stop, 
and  after  the  rest  had  gone  he  remained  seated 
at  the  table,  enjoying  the  indignant  color  in  her 
face  and  the  flash  of  her  infrequent  smile,  which 
it  was  such  a  pleasure  to  provoke.  He  volun 
teered  to  help  wash  the  dishes. 

"  Thank  you,  but  I'm  afraid  you'd  be  more 
bother  than  help,"  she  replied. 

"  Thank  you,  but  you  don't  know  me.  I 
ain't  so  green  as  I  look,  by  no  manner  o' 
means.  I've  been  doing  my  own  housekeeping 
for  four  terms." 

"  I  know  all  about  that,"  laughed  the  girl. 
"  You  young  men  rooming  do  precious  little 
cooking  and  no  dish-washing  at  all." 

"  That's  a  base  calumny  !  I  made  it  a  point 
to  wash  every  dish  in  the  house,  except  the 
spider,  once  a  week  ;  had  a  regular  cleaning-up 
day." 

"  And  about  the  spider  ?  " 

"  I  wiped  that  out  nicely  with  a  newspaper 
every  time  I  wanted  to  use  it." 

"  Oh,  horrors  ! — Mother,  listen  to  that !  " 

"  Why,  what  more  could  you  ask  ?  You 
wouldn't  have  me  wipe  it  six  times  a  day,  would 
you  ?  " 

"  I  wonder  it  didn't  poison  you,"  commented 
Mrs.  Welsh. 

"  Takes  more'n  that  to  poison  a  student," 
laughed  Albert,  as  he  went  out. 

The  next  afternoon  he  came  bursting  into 


132 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


the  kitchen,  where  Maud  stood  with  her  sleeves 
rolled  up,  deep  in  the  dish  pan,  while  Stella 
stood  wiping  the  dishes  handed  to  her. 

"  Don't  you  want  a  sleigh  ride  ?  "  he  asked, 
boyishly  eager. 

She  looked  up  with  shining  eyes. 

"Oh,  wouldn't  I!  —  Can  you  get  along, 
mother  ? " 

"  Certainly,  child  ;  the  air'll  do  you  good." 

"  W'y,  Maud  !  "  said  the  little  girl,  "you  said 
you  didn't  want  to  when  Ed " 

Mrs.  Welsh  silenced  her,  and  said : 

"  Run  right  along,  dear  ;  it's  just  the  nicest 
time  o'  day.  Are  there  many  teams  out  ?  " 

"  They're  just  beginning  t'  come  out,"  said 
Albert.  "  I'll  have  a  cutter  around  here  in  about 
two  jiffies ;  be  on  hand,  sure." 

Troutt  was  standing  in  the  sunny  doorway 
of  his  stable  when  the  young  fellow  dashed  up 
to  him." 

"  Hullo,  Uncle  Troutt !  Harness  the  fastest 
nag  into  your  swellest  outfit  instanter." 

"  Aha  !     Coin'  t'  take  y'r  girl  out,  hey  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  I  want  'o  do  it  in  style." 

"  I  guess  ol'  Dan's  the  idee,  if  you  can  drive 
him  ;  he's  a  ring-tailed  snorter." 

"  Fast  ? " 

"  Nope  ;  but  safe.  Gentle  as  a  kitten  and  as 
knowin*  as  a  fox.  Drive  him  with  one  hand — 
left  hand,"  the  old  man  chuckled. 

"  Troutt,  you're  an  insinuating  old  insinuator, 
and  I'll " 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  ^3 

Troutt  laughed  till  his  long  faded  beard 
flapped  up  and  down  and  quivered  with  the 
stress  of  his  enjoyment  of  his  joke.  He  ended 
by  hitching  a  vicious-looking  sorrel  to  a  gay, 
duck-bellied  cutter,  saying  as  he  gave  up  the 
reins  : 

"  Now,  be  keerful ;  Dan's  foxy ;  he's  all  right 
when  he  sees  you've  got  the  reins,  but  don't 
drop  'em." 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  me  ;  I  grew  up  with 
horses,"  said  the  over-confident  youth,  leaping 
into  the  sleigh  and  gathering  up  the  lines. 
"  Stand  aside,  my  lord,  and  let  the  cortege  pass. 
Hoop-la  !  " 

The  brute  gave  a  tearing  lunge,  and  was 
out  of  the  doorway  like  a  shot  before  the  old 
man  could  utter  a  word.  Albert  thrilled  with 
pleasure  as  he  felt  the  reins  stiffen  in  his 
hands,  while  the  traces  swung  slack  beside  the 
thills. 

"  If  he  keeps  this  up  he'll  do,"  he  thought. 

As  he  turned  up  at  the  gate  Maud  came 
gayly  down  the  path,  muffled  to  the  eyes. 

"  Oh,  what  a  nice  cutter  !  But  the  horse — 
is  he  gentle  ?  "  she  asked,  as  she  climbed  in. 

"  As  a  cow,"  Albert  replied. — "  Git  out  o' 
this,  Bones  !  " 

The  main  street  was  already  full  of  teams, 
wood  sleighs,  bob-sleighs  filled  with  children, 
and  here  and  there  a  man  in  a  light  cutter 
alone,  out  for  a  race.  Laughter  was  on  the 
air,  and  the  jingle-jangle  of  bells.  The  sun 


134 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


was  dazzling  in  its  brightness,  and  the  gay 
wraps  and  scarfs  lighted  up  the  street  with 
flecks  of  color.  Loafers  on  the  sidewalks 
fired  a  fusillade  of  words  at  the  teams  as  they 
passed  : 

"Go  it,  Bones!" 

"  *  Let  'er  go,  Gallagher  ! '  " 

"  Ain't  she  a  daisy  !  " 

But  what  cared  the  drivers  ?  If  the  shouts 
were  insolent  they  laid  them  to  envy,  and  if 
they  were  pleasant  they  smiled  in  reply. 

Albert  and  Maud  had  made  two  easy  turns 
up  and  down  the  street,  when  a  man  driving  a 
span  of  large  black-hawk  horses  dashed  up  a 
side  street  and  whirled  in  just  before  them. 
The  man  was  a  superb  driver,  and  sat  with 
the  reins  held  carelessly  but  securely  in  his 
left  hand,  guiding  the  team  more  by  his  voice 
than  by  the  bit.  He  sat  leaning  forward  with 
his  head  held  down  in  a  peculiar  and  sinister 
fashion. 

",#>/-lo!"  cried  Bert;  "that  looks  like 
Brann." 

"  It  is,"  said  Maud. 

"  Cracky  !  that's  a  fine  team — Black  Hawks, 
both  of  them.  I  wonder  if  ol'  sorrel  can  pass 
'em  ? " 

"  Oh,  please  don't  try,"  pleaded  the  girl. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because — because  I'm  afraid." 

"  Afraid  of  what  ?  " 

"  Afraid  something'll  happen." 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  j^ 

"  Something  is  goin'  t'  happen  ;  I'm  goin*  t' 
pass  him  if  old  Bones  has  got  any  git  to  him." 

"  It'll  make  him  mad." 

"  Who  mad  ?     Brann  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  s'pose  it  does,  who  cafes  ?  " 

The  teams  moved  along  at  an  easy  pace. 
Some  one  called  to  Brann  : 

"  They're  on  y'r  trail,  Ed." 

There  was  something  peculiar  in  the  tone, 
and  Brann  looked  behind  for  the  first  time, 
and  saw  them.  He  swore  through  his  teeth, 
and  turned  about.  He  looked  dogged  and  sul 
len,  with  his  bent  shoulders  and  his  chin  thrust 
down. 

There  were  a  dozen  similar  rigs  moving  up 
or  down  the  street,  and  greetings  passed  from 
sleigh  to  sleigh.  Everybody  except  Brann  wel 
comed  Albert  with  sincere  pleasure,  and  ex 
changed  rustic  jokes  with  him.  As  they  slowed 
up  at  the  upper  end  of  the  street  and  began 
to  turn,  a  man  on  the  sidewalk  said  confiden 
tially  : 

"  Say,  cap',  if  you  handle  that  old  rack-o'- 
bones  just  right,  he'll  distance  anything  on  this 
road.  When  you  want  him  to  do  his  best  let 
him  have  the  rein  ;  don't  pull  a  pound.  I  used 
to  own  'im — I  know  'im." 

The  old  sorrel  came  round  "  gauming,"  his 
ugly  head  thrown  up,  his  great  red  mouth  open, 
his  ears  back.  Brann  and  the  young  doctor  of 
the  place  were  turning  together  a  little  farther 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


up  the  street.  The  blacks,  superbly  obedient  to 
their  driver,  came  down  with  flying  hoofs,  their 
great  glossy  breasts  flecked  with  foam  from 
their  champing  jaws. 

"  Come  on,  fellers  !  "  yelled  Brann,  insult 
ingly,  as  he  came  down  past  the  doctor,  and 
seemed  about  to  pass  Albert  and  Maud.  There 
was  hate  in  the  glare  of  his  eyes. 

But  he  did  not  pass.  The  old  sorrel  seemed 
to  lengthen  ;  to  the  spectators  his  nose  appeared 
to  be  glued  to  the  glossy  side  of  Brann's  off 
black. 

"  See  them  blacks  trot  !  "  shouted  Albert,  in 
ungrammatical  enthusiasm. 

"  See  that  old  sorrel  shake  himself  !  "  yelled 
the  loafers. 

The  doctor  came  tearing  down  with  a  spir 
ited  bay,  a  magnificent  stepper.  As  he  drew 
along  so  that  Bert  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
mare's  neck,  he  thrilled  with  delight.  There  was 
the  thoroughbred's  lacing  of  veins  ;  the  proud 
fling  of  her  knees  and  the  swell  of  her  neck 
showed  that  she  was  far  from  doing  her  best. 
There  was  a  wild  light  in  her  eyes. 

These  were  the  fast  teams  of  the  town.  All 
interest  was  centered  in  them. 

"  Clear  the  track  !  "  yelled  the  loafers. 

"  The  doc's  good  f'r  'em." 

"  If  she  don't  break." 

Albert  was  pulling  at  the  sorrel  heavily,  ab 
sorbed  in  seeing,  as  well  as  he  could  for  the 
flung  snowballs,  the  doctor's  mare  draw  slowly, 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  137 

foot  by  foot,  past  the  blacks.  Suddenly  Brann 
gave  a  shrill  yell  and  stood  up  in  his  sleigh.  The 
gallant  little  bay  broke  and  fell  behind  ;  Brann 
gave  a  loud  laugh  ;  the  blacks  trotted  on,  their 
splendid  pace  unchanged. 

"  Let  the  sorrel  out !  "  yelled  somebody. 

"  Let  him  loose !  "  yelled  Troutt  on  the 
corner,  quivering  with  excitement.  "  Let  him 
go!" 

Albert  remembered  what  the  fellow  had  said; 
he  let  the  reins  loose.  The  old  sorrel's  teeth 
came  together  with  a  snap ;  his  head  lowered 
and  his  tail  rose ;  he  shot  abreast  of  the  blacks. 
Brann  yelled  : 

"  Sam— Saul,  git!" 

"  See  them  trot  !  "  shouted  Bert,  lost  in  ad 
miration  ;  but  Maud,  frightened  into  silence, 
had  covered  her  head  with  the  robe  to  escape 
the  blinding  cloud  of  flying  snow.  The  sorrel 
drew  steadily  ahead  ;  he  was  passing  when  Brann 
turned. 

"  Durn  y'r  old  horse  ! "  he  yelled  through 
his  shut  teeth,  and  laid  the  whip  across  the 
sorrel's  hips.  The  blacks  broke  wildly,  but, 
strange  to  say,  the  old  sorrel  increased  his  speed. 
Again  Brann  struck  at  him,  but  missed  him,  and 
the  stroke  fell  on  Bert's  outstretched  wrists. 
He  turned  to  see  what  Brann  meant  by  it ;  he 
did  not  see  that  the  blacks  were  crowding  him 
to  the  gutter  ;  his  hands  felt  numb. 

"  Look  out,  there  !  " 

Before  he  could  turn  to  look,  the  cutter 
10 


138  WA  YSIDE   CO  UR  T SHIPS. 

seemed  to  be  blown  up  by  a  bomb,  and  he  rose 
in  the  air  like  a  vaulter  ;  he  saw  the  traces  part, 
he  felt  the  reins  slip  through  his  hands,  and 
that  was  all ;  he  seemed  to  fall  an  immeasur 
able  depth  into  a  black  abyss.  .  .  .  The  next 
that  he  knew  was  a  curious  soft  murmur  of 
voices,  out  of  which  a  sweet,  agonized  girl-voice 
broke,  familiar  but  unrecognized  : 

"  Oh,  where's  the  doctor  !  He's  dead — oh, 
he's  dead  !  Can't  you  hurry  ? " 

Next  came  a  quick,  authoritative  voice,  still 
far  away,  and  a  hush  followed  it ;  then  an  im 
perative  order  : 

"  Stand  out  o'  the  way  !  What  do  you  think 
you  can  do  by  crowding  on  top  of  him  ?  " 

"  Stand  back  !  stand  back  !  "  other  voices 
called. 

Then  he  felt  something  cold  on  his  head  : 
they  were  taking  his  cap  off  and  putting  snow 
on  his  head ;  then  the  doctor  (he  knew  him 
now)  said  : 

"  Let  me  take  him  !  " 

"  Oh,  can't  I  do  something  ?  "  said  the  sweet 
voice. 

«  No— nothing." 

Then  there  came  a  strange  fullness  in  his 
head.  Shadows  lighted  by  dull  red  flashes 
passed  before  his  eyes  ;  he  wondered,  in  a  slow, 
dull  way,  if  he  were  dying.  Then  this  changed : 
a  dull,  throbbing  ache  came  into  his  head,  and 
as  this  grew  the  noise  of  voices  grew  more  dis 
tinct  and  he  could  hear  sobbing.  Then  the 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE. 


139 


dull,  rhythmic  red  flashes  passed  slowly  away 
from  his  eyes,  and  he  opened  his  lids,  but  the 
glare  of  the  sunlight  struck  them  shut  again  ; 
he  saw  only  Maud's  face,  agonized,  white,  and 
wet  with  tears,  looking  down  into  his.  He  felt 
the  doctor's  hands  winding  bandages  about  his 
head,  and  he  felt  a  crawling  stream  of  blood  be 
hind  his  ear,  getting  as  cold  as  ice  as  it  sank 
under  his  collar. 

They  raised  him  a  little  more,  and  he  opened 
his  eyes  on  the  circle  of  hushed  and  excited 
men  thronging  about  him.  He  saw  Brann,  with 
wild,  scared  face,  standing  in  his  cutter  and 
peering  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now  ?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Can  you  hear  us  ?  Albert,  do  you  know 
me  ?  "  called  the  girl. 

His  lips  moved  stiffly,  but  he  smiled  a  little, 
and  at  length  whispered  slowly,  "  Yes ;  I  guess — 
I'm  all — right." 

"  Put  him  into  my  cutter  ;  Maud,  get  in  here, 
too,"  the  doctor  commanded,  with  all  the  au 
thority  of  a  physician  in  a  small  village.  The 
crowd  opened,  and  silenced  its  muttered  com 
ments  as  the  doctor  and  Troutt  helped  the 
wounded  man  into  the  sleigh.  The  pain  in  his 
head  grew  worse,  but  Albert's  perception  of 
things  grew  in  proportion  ;  he  closed  his  eyes 
to  the  sun,  but  in  the  shadow  of  Maud's  breast 
opened  them  again  and  looked  up  at  her.  He 
felt  a  vague,  childlike  pleasure  in  knowing  she 
was  holding  him  in  her  arms ;  he  felt  the  sleigh 


140 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


moving ;  he  thought  of  his  mother,  and  how  it 
would  frighten  her  if  she  knew. 

The  doctor  was  driving  the  horse  and  walk 
ing  beside  the  sleigh,  and  the  people  were  ac 
costing  him.  Albert  could  catch  their  words 
now  and  then,  and  the  reply  : 

"  No  ;  he  isn't  killed,  nor  anything  near  it ; 
he's  stunned,  that's  all  ;  he  isn't  bleeding  now. 
No ;  he'll  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two." 

"  Hello  !  "  said  a  breathless,  hearty  voice, 
"what  the  deuce  y'  been  doing  with  my  pard- 
ner  ?  Bert,  old  fellow,  are  you  there?"  Hart 
ley  asked,  clinging  to  the  edge  of  the  moving 
cutter,  and  peering  into  his  friend's  face.  Albert 
smiled. 

"  I'm  here — what  there  is  left  of  me,"  he  re 
plied  faintly. 

"  Glory  !  how'd  it  happen  ?  "  he  asked  of  the 
girl. 

"  I  don't  know — I  couldn't  see — we  ran  into 
a  culvert,"  replied  Maud. 

"Weren't  you  hurt?" 

"  Not  a  bit.     I  stayed  in  the  cutter." 

Albert  felt  a  steady  return  of  waves  of  pain, 
but  did  not  know  that  they  were  waves  of  re 
turning  life.  He  groaned,  and  tried  to  rise. 
The  girl  gently  but  firmly  restrained  him.  Hart 
ley  was  walking  beside  the  doctor,  talking  loud 
ly.  "  It  was  a  devilish  thing  to  do ;  the  scoundrel 
ought  'o  be  jugged  !  " 

Albert  groaned,  and  tried  to  rise  again.  "  I'm 
bleeding  yet ;  I'm  soaking  you  !  " 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE. 


141 


The  girl  shuddered,  but  remained  firm. 

"  No  ;  we're  'most  home." 

She  felt  no  shame,  but  a  certain  exaltation, 
as  she  looked  into  the  curious  faces  she  saw  in 
groups  on  the  sidewalk.  The  boys  who  ran 
alongside  wore  in  their  faces  a  look  of  awe, 
for  they  imagined  themselves  in  the  presence  of 
death. 

Maud  gazed  unrecognizingly  upon  her  near 
est  girl  friends.  They  seemed  something  alien 
in  that  moment ;  and  they,  gazing  upon  her 
white  face  and  unrecognizing  eyes,  spoke  in 
awed  whispers. 

At  the  gate  the  crowd  gathered  and  waited 
with  deepest  interest,  with  a  sort  of  shuddering 
pleasure.  It  was  all  a  strange,  unusual,  inthrall- 
ing  romance  to  them.  The  dazzling  sunshine 
added  to  the  wonder  of  it  all. 

"  Ed  Brann  done  it." 

"  How  ?  "  asked  several. 

"  With  the  butt  end  of  his  whip." 

"  That's  a  lie !  His  team  ran  into  Lohr's 
rig." 

"  Not  much ;  Ed  crowded  him  into  the 
ditch." 

"  What  fer  ?  " 

"  'Cause  Bert  cut  him  out  with  Maud." 

"  Come,  get  out  of  the  way  !  Don't  stand 
there  gabbing,"  yelled  Hartley,  as  he  took  Al 
bert  in  his  arms  and,  together  with  the  doctor, 
lifted  him  out  of  the  sleigh. 

"  Goodness   sakes   alive  !     Ain't  it   terrible  ! 


1 42  WA  YSIDE    CO  UR  T SHIPS. 

How  is  he  ? "  asked  an  old  lady,  peering  at 
him  as  he  passed. 

On  the  porch  stood  Mrs.  Welsh,  supported  by 
Ed  Brann. 

"  She's  all  right,  I  tell  you.  He  ain't  hurt 
much,  either;  just  stunned  a  little,  that's  all." 

"  Maud  !  child  !  "  cried  the  mother,  as  Maud 
appeared  out  of  the  crowd,  followed  by  a  bevy 
of  girls. 

"  Mother,  I'm  all  right !  "  she  said  as  gayly 
as  she  could,  running  into  the  trembling  arms 
outstretched  toward  her ;  "  but,  oh,  poor  Al 
bert  !  " 

After  they  disappeared  into  the  house  the 
crowd  dispersed.  Brann  went  off  by  way  of  the 
alley  ;  he  was  not  prepared  to  meet  their  ques 
tions  ;  but  he  met  his  brother  and  several  others 
in  his  store. 

"  Now,  what  in you  been  up  to  ?  "  was 

the  fraternal  greeting. 

"  Nothing." 

"  Welting  a  man  on  the  head  with  a  whip- 
stock  ain't  anything,  hey  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  touch  him.  We  was  racing,  and 
he  run  into  the  culvert." 

"  Hank  says  he  saw  you  strike " 

"  He  lies  !  I  was  strikin'  the  horse  to  make 
him  break." 

"  Oh,  yeh  was !  "  sneered  the  older  man. 
"Well,  I  hope  you  understand  that  this'll  ruin 
us  in  this  town.  If  you  didn't  strike  him,  they'll 
say  you  run  him  into  the  culvert,  'n'  every  man, 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE. 


'43 


woman,  'n'  child'll  be  down  on  you,  and  me 
f'r  bein'  related  to  you.  They  all  know  how  you 
feel  towards  him  for  cuttin'  you  out  with  Maud 
Welsh." 

"  Oh,  don't  bear  down  on  him  too  hard,  Joe. 
He  didn't  mean  t'  do  any  harm,"  said  Troutt, 
who  had  followed  Ed  down  to  the  store.  "  I 
guess  the  young  feller'll  come  out  all  right. 
Just  go  kind  o'  easy  till  we  see  how  he  comes 
out.  If  he  dies,  why,  it'll  haf  t'  be  looked 
into." 

Ed  turned  pale  and  swallowed  hastily.  "  If 
he  should  die  !  "  He  would  be  a  murderer  ;  he 
knew  that  hate  was  in  his  heart.  He  shivered 
again  as  he  remembered  the  man's  white  face 
with  the  bright  red  stream  flowing  down  behind 
his  ear  and  over  his  cheek.  It  almost  seemed  to 
him  that  he  had-  struck  him,  so  close  had  the 
accident  followed  upon  the  fall  of  his  whip. 


III. 

ALBERT  sank  into  a  feverish  sleep  that  night, 
with  a  vague  perception  of  four  figures  in  the 
room  —  Maud,  her  mother,  Hartley,  and  the 
young  doctor.  When  he  awoke  fully  in  the 
morning  his  head  felt  prodigiously  hot  and 
heavy. 

It  was  early  dawn,  and  the  lamp  was  burn 
ing  brightly.  Outside,  a  man's  feet  could  be 
heard  on  the  squealing  snow — a  sound  which 


144 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


told  how  still  and  cold  it  was.  A  team  passed 
with  a  jingle  of  bells. 

Albert  raised  his  head  and  looked  about. 
Hartley  was  lying  on  the  sofa,  rolled  up  in  his 
overcoat  and  some  extra  quilts.  He  had  lain 
down  at  last,  worn  with  watching.  Albert  felt 
a  little  weak,  and  fell  back  on  his  pillow,  think 
ing  about  the  strange  night  he  had  passed— a 
night  more  filled  with  strange  happenings  than 
the  afternoon. 

His  sleep  had  been  broken  by  the  most  vivid 
and  exciting  dreams,  and  through  these  visions 
had  moved  the  figures  of  Hartley,  the  doctor, 
and  Maud  and  her  mother.  He  had  a  confused 
idea  of  the  night,  but  a  very  clear  idea  of  the 
afternoon.  He  could  see  the  sidewalks  lined 
with  faces,  the  sun  shining  on  the  snow,  the  old 
sorrel's  side-flung  head  and  open  mouth  ;  the 
sleigh  rose  under  him  again,  and  he  felt  the 
reins  burn  through  his  hands. 

As  the  light  grew  in  the  room  his  mind 
cleared,  and  he  began  to  feel  quite  like  him 
self  again.  He  lifted  his  muscular  arm  and 
opened  and  shut  his  hand,  saying  aloud  in  his 
old  boyish  manner  : 

"  I  guess  I'm  all  here." 

"  What's  that  ? "  called  Hartley,  rolling  out 
of  bed.  "  Did  you  ask  for  anything  ?  " 

"No  —  yes;  gimme  some  water,  Jim;  my 
mouth  is  dry  as  a  powder  mill." 

"  How  yeh  feelin',  anyway,  pardner  ? "  said 
Hartley,  as  he  brought  the  water. 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  145 

"  First  rate,  Jim  ;  I  guess  I'll  be  all  right." 

"  Well,  I  guess  you'd  better  keep  quiet." 

Albert  rose  partly,  assisted  by  his  friend,  and 
drank  from  the  glass  a  moment ;  then  fell  back 
on  his  pillow. 

"  I  don't  feel  s'  well  when  I  sit  up." 

"  Well,  don't,  then  ;  stay  right  there  where 
you  are.  Oh-um  !  "  gaped  Hartley,  stretching 
himself ;  "  it's  about  time  f'r  breakfast,  I  guess. 
Want  y'r  hands  washed  and  y'r  hair  combed  ? " 

"  I  guess  I  ain't  reduced  to  that  yet." 

"  Well,  I  guess  y'  be,  old  man.  Now  keep 
quiet,  or  have  I  got  t'  make  yeh  ?  "  he  asked  in 
a  threatening  tone  which  made  Albert  smile. 
He  wondered  if  Hartley  hadn't  been  sitting  up 
most  of  the  night ;  but  if  he  had,  he  showed 
little  effect  of  it,  for  he  began  to  sing  a  comic 
song  as  he  pulled  on  his  boots. 

He  threw  on  his  coat  next,  and  went  out 
into  the  kitchen,  returning  soon  with  some  hot 
water,  with  which  he  began  to  bathe  the  wound 
ed  boy's  face  and  hands  as  tenderly  as  a 
woman. 

"  There ;  now  I  guess  you're  in  shape  f'r 
grub— feel  any  like  grub  ? — Come  in,"  he  called 
in  answer  to  a  knock  on  the  door. 

Mrs.  Welsh  entered. 

"  How  is  he  ?  "  she  whispered  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right,"  cried  Albert.  "  Bring 
me  a  plate  of  pancakes,  quick  !  " 

Mrs.  Welsh  turned  to  Hartley  with  a  startled 
expression,  but  Hartley's  grin  assured  her. 


I46  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

"  I'm  glad  to  find  you  so  much  better,"  she 
said,  going  to  his  bedside.  "  I've  hardly  slep',  I 
was  so  much  worried  about  you." 

It  was  very  sweet  to  feel  her  fingers  in 
his  hair,  as  his  mother  would  have  caressed 
him. 

"  I  guess  I  hadn't  better  take  off  the  band 
ages  till  the  doctor  comes,  if  you're  comfort 
able. — Your  breakfast  is  ready,  Mr.  Hartley,  and 
I'll  bring  something  for  Albert." 

Another  knock  a  few  minutes  later,  and 
Maud  entered  with  a  platter,  followed  closely 
by  her  mother,  who  carried  some  tea  and 
milk. 

Maud  came  forward  timidly,  but  when  he 
turned  his  eyes  on  her  and  said  in  a  cheery 
voice,  "  Good  morning,  Miss  Welsh  !  "  she  flamed 
out  in  rosy  color  and  recoiled.  She  had  expect 
ed  to  see  him  pale,  dull-eyed,  and  with  a  weak 
voice,  but  there  was  little  to  indicate  invalidism 
in  his  firm  greeting.  She  gave  place  to  Mrs. 
Welsh,  who  prepared  his  breakfast.  She  was 
smitten  dumb  by  this  turn  of  affairs ;  she  hardly 
dared  look  at  him  as  he  sat  propped  up  in  bed. 
The  crimson  trimming  on  his  shirt-front  seemed 
like  streams  of  blood ;  his  head,  swathed  in 
bandages,  made  her  shudder.  But  aside  from 
these  few  suggestions  of  wounding,  there  was 
little  of  the  horror  of  the  previous  day  left. 
He  did  not  look  so  pale  and  worn  as  the  girl 
herself. 

However,  though   he   was   feeling   absurdly 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  147 

well,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  bravado  in  his 
tone  and  manner,  for  he  ate  but  little,  and  soon 
sank  back  on  the  bed. 

"  I  feel  better  when  my  head  is  low,"  he  ex 
plained  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  Can't  I  do  something?"  asked  the  girl,  her 
courage  reviving  as  she  saw  how  ill  and  faint  he 
really  was.  His  eyes  were  closed  and  he  looked 
the  invalid  now. 

"  I  guess  you  better  write  to  his  folks." 

"  No  ;  don't  do  that,"  he  said,  opening  his 
eyes  ;  "  it  will  only  do  them  harm  an'  me  no 
good.  I'll  be  all  right  in  a  few  days.  You 
needn't  waste  your  time  on  me  ;  Hartley'll  wait 
on  me." 

"  Mr.  Lohr,  how  can  you  say  such  cruel " 

"  Don't  mind  him  now,"  said  Mrs.  Welsh. 
"  I'm  his  mother  now,  and  he's  goin'  to  do  just 
as  I  tell  him  to — ain't  you,  Albert  ?  " 

He  dropped  his  eyelids  in  assent,  and  went 
off  in  a  doze.  It  was  all  very  pleasant  to  be 
thus  treated.  Hartley  was  devotion  itself,  and 
the  doctor  removed  his  bandages  with  the  care 
and  deliberation  of  a  man  with  a  moderate  prac 
tice  ;  besides,  he  considered  Albert  a  personal 
friend. 

Hartley,  after  the  doctor  had  gone,  said  with 
some  hesitation  : 

"  Well,  now,  pard,  I  ought  to  go  out  and  see  a 
couple  o'  fellows  I  promised  t'  meet  this  morn 
ing." 

"  All   right,  Jim ;    all    right.     You  go  right 


I48  WAYSTDE   COURTSHIPS. 

ahead  on  business ;  I'm  goin'  t'  sleep,  anyway, 
and  I'll  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two." 

"Well,  I  will;  but  I'll  run  in  every  hour  'r 
two  and  see  if  you  don't  want  something. 
You're  in  good  hands,  anyway,  when  I'm 
gone." 

"  Won't  you  read  to  me  ?  "  pleaded  Albert 
in  the  afternoon,  when  Maud  came  in  with  her 
mother  to  brush  up  the  room.  "  It's  getting 
rather  slow  business  layin'  here  like  this. 
Course  I  can't  ask  Jim  to  stay  and  read  all 
the  time,  and  he's  a  bad  reader,  anyway ;  won't 
you  ?  " 

"  Shall  I,  mother  ?  " 

"Why,  of  course,  Maud!" 

So  Maud  got  a  book,  and  sat  down  over  by 
the  stove,  quite  distant  from  the  bed,  and  read 
to  him  from  u  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  while 
the  mother,  like  a  piece  of  tireless  machinery, 
moved  about  the  house  at  the  never-ending 
succession  of  petty  drudgeries  which  wear  the 
heart  and  soul  out  of  so  many  wives  and  moth 
ers,  making  life  to  them  a  pilgrimage  from  stove 
to  pantry,  from  pantry  to  cellar,  and  from  cellar 
to  garret — a  life  that  deadens  and  destroys, 
coarsens  and  narrows,  till  the  flesh  and  bones 
are  warped  to  the  expression  of  the  wronged  and 
cheated  soul. 

Albert's  selfishness  was  in  a  way  excusable. 
He  enjoyed  beyond  measure  the  sound  of  the 
girl's  soft  voice  and  the  sight  of  her  graceful 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE. 


149 


head  bent  over  the  page.  He  lay,  looking  and 
listening  dreamily,  till  the  voice  and  the  sunlit 
head  were  lost  in  his  deep,  sweet  sleep. 

The  girl  sat  with  closed  book,  looking  at  his 
face  as  he  slept.  It  was  a  curious  study  to  her, 
a  young  man — this  young  man,  asleep.  His 
brown  lashes  lay  on  his  cheek  ;  his  facial  lines 
were  as  placid  as  a  child's.  As  she  looked  she 
gained  courage  to  go  over  softly  and  peer  down 
on  him.  How  boyish  he  seemed  !  How  little  to 
be  feared  !  How  innocent,  after  all ! 

As  she  studied  him  she  thought  of  him  the 
day  before,  with  closed  eyes,  a  ghastly  stream 
of  blood  flowing  down  and  soaking  her  dress. 
She  shuddered.  His  hands,  clean  and  strong 
and  white,  lay  out  on  the  coverlet,  loose  and 
open,  the  fingers  fallen-  into  graceful  lines.  Ab 
ruptly,  a  boy  outside  gave  a  shout,  and  she 
leaped  away  with  a  sudden  spring  that  left  her 
pale  and  breathless.  As  she  paused  in  the  door 
and  looked  back  at  the  undisturbed  steeper, 
she  smiled,  and  the  pink  came  back  into  her 
thin  face. 

Albert's  superb  young  blood  began  to  assert 
itself,  and  on  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day 
he  was  able  to  sit  in  his  rocking  chair  before 
the  fire  and  read  a  little,  though  he  pro 
fessed  that  his  eyes  were  not  strong,  in  order 
that  Maud  should  read  for  him.  This  she  did 
as  often  as  she  could  leave  her  other  work, 
which  was  "  not  half  often  enough,"  the  invalid 
grumbled. 


150 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


"  More  than  you  deserve,"  she  found  courage 
to  say. 

Hartley  let  nothing  interfere  with  the  book 
business,  and  the  popular  sympathy  for  Albert 
he  coined  into  dollars  remorselessly. 

"  You  take  it  easy,"  he  kept  saying  to  his 
partner  ;  "  don't  you  worry — your  pay  goes  on 
just  the  same.  You're  doing  well  right  where 
you  are.  By  jinks  !  biggest  piece  o'  luck,"  he 
went  on,  half  in  earnest.  "Why,  I  can't  turn 
around  without  taking  an  order — fact !  Turned 
in  a  book  on  the  livery  bill — that's  all  right. 
We'll  make  a  clear  hundred  dollars  out  o'  that 
little  bump  o'  yours." 

"  Little  bump  !     Say,  now,  that's " 

"  Keep  it  up — put  it  on  !  Don't  get  up  in  a 
hurry.  I  don't  need  you  to  canvass,  and  I 
guess  you  enjoy  this  'bout  as  well."  He  ended 
with  a  sly  wink  and  cough. 

Yes  ;  the  convalescence  was  delicious  ;  after 
ward  it  grew  to  be  one  of  the  sweetest  weeks  of 
his  life.  Maud  reading  to  him,  bringing  his  food, 
and  singing  for  him — yes ;  all  that  marred  it  was 
the  stream  of  people  who  came  to  inquire  how 
he  was  getting  along.  The  sympathy  was  large 
ly  genuine,  as  Hartley  could  attest,  but  it  bored 
the  invalid.  He  had  rather  be  left  in  quiet  with 
Walter  Scott  and  Maud,  the  drone  of  the  long 
descriptive  passages  being  a  sure  soporific. 

He  did  not  say,  as  an  older  person  might, 
that  she  was  not  to  be  held  accountable  for 
what  she  did  under  the  stress  and  tumult  of 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  i$i 

that  day  ;  but  he  unconsciously  did  so  regard 
her  actions,  led  to  do  so  by  the  changed  con 
ditions.  In  the  light  of  common  day  it  was 
hurrying  to  be  a  dream. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  he  was  quite  himself 
again,  though  he  still  had  difficulty  in  wearing 
his  hat.  It  was  not  till  the  second  Sunday  after 
the  accident  that  he  appeared  in  the  dining 
room  for  the  first  time,  with  a  large  traveling 
cap  concealing  the  suggestive  bandages.  He 
looked  pale  and  thin,  but  his  eyes  danced  with 
joy. 

Maud's  eyes  dilated  with  instant  solicitude. 
The  rest  sprang  up  in  surprise,  with  shouts  of 
delight,  as  hearty  as  brethren. 

"  Ginger  !  I'm  glad  t'  see  yeh  !  "  said  Troutt, 
so  sincerely  that  he  looked  almost  winning  to 
the  boy.  The  rest  crowded  around,  shaking 
hands. 

"  Oh,  I'm  on  deck  again." 

Ed  Brann  came  in  a  moment  later  with  his 
brother,  and  there  was  a  significant  little  pause 
— a  pause  which  grew  painful  till  Albert  turned 
and  saw  Brann,  and  called  out : 

"  Hello,  Ed  !  How  are  you  ?  Didn't  know 
you  were  here." 

As  he  held  out  his  hand,  Brann,  his  face 
purple  with  shame  and  embarrassment,  lum 
bered  heavily  across  the  room  and  took  it, 
muttering  some  poor  apology. 

"  Hope  y'  don't  blame  me." 

"  Of  course  not — fortunes  o'  war.      Nobody 


152 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


to  blame;  just  my  carelessness. — Yes;  I'll  take 
turkey,"  he  said  to  Maud,  as  he  sank  into  the 
seat  of  honor  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

Then  the  rest  laughed  and  took  seats,  but 
Brann  remained  standing  near  Albert's  chair. 
He  had  not  finished  yet. 

"  I'm  mighty  glad  yeh  don't  lay  it  up  against 
me,  Lohr ;  an'  I  want  'o  say  the  doctor's  bill  is 
all  right ;  you  un'erstand,  it's  all  right." 

Albert  looked  at  him  a  moment  in  surprise. 
He  knew  this,  coming  from  a  man  like  Brann, 
meant  more  than  a  thousand  prayers  from  a 
ready  apologist  ;  it  was  a  terrible  victory,  and 
he  made  it  as  easy  for  his  rival  as  possible. 

"  Oh,  all  right,  Ed  ;  only  I'd  calculated  to 
cheat  him  out  o'  part  of  it — that  is,  turn  in  a 
couple  o'  Elaine's  *  Twenty  Years '  on  the  bill." 

Hartley  roared,  and  the  rest  joined  in,  but 
not  even  Albert  perceived  all  that  it  meant. 
It  meant  that  the  young  savage  had  surren 
dered  his  claim  in  favor  of  the  man  he  had 
all  but  killed.  The  struggle  had  been  prodi 
gious,  but  he  had  snatched  victory  out  of  de 
feat  ;  his  better  nature  had  conquered. 

No  one  ever  gave  him  credit  for  it ;  and 
when  he  went  West  in  the  spring,  people  said 
his  love  for  Maud  had  been  superficial.  In 
truth,  he  had  loved  the  girl  as  sincerely  as 
he  had  hated  his  rival.  That  he  could  rise 
out  of  the  barbaric  in  his  love  and  hate  was 
heroic. 

When  Albert  went  to  ride  again,  it  was  on 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  153 

melting  snow,  with  the  slowest  horse  Troutt 
had.  Maud  was  happier  than  she  had  been 
since  she  left  school,  and  fuller  of  color  and 
singing.  She  dared  not  let  a  golden  moment 
pass  now  without  hearing  it  ring  full,  and  she 
did  not  dare  to  think  how  short  this  day  of 
happiness  might  be. 


IV. 

AT  the  end  of  the  fifth  week  there  was  a 
suspicion  of  spring  in  the  wind  as  it  swept  the 
southern  exposure  of  the  valley.  February  was 
drawing  to  a  close,  and  there  was  more  than  a 
suggestion  of  spring  in  the  rapidly  melting  snow 
which  still  lay  on  the  hills  and  under  the  cedars 
and  tamaracks  in  the  swamps.  Patches  of  green 
grass,  appearing  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  road 
where  the  snow  had  melted,  led  to  predictions  of 
spring  from  the  loafers  beginning  to  sun  them 
selves  on  the  salt-barrels  and  shoe-boxes  outside 
the  stores. 

A  group  sitting  about  the  blacksmith  shop 
were  talking  it. 

"  It's  an  early  seedin' — now  mark  my  words," 
said  Troutt,  as  he  threw  his  knife  into  the  soft 
ground  at  his  feet.  "  The  sun  is  crossing  the 
line  earlier  this  spring  than  it  did  last." 

"Yes;  an'  I  heard  a  crow  to-day  makin'  that 
kind  of  a — a  spring  noise    that    kind  o' — I  d' 
know  what — kind  o'  goes  all  through  a  feller." 
"  And  there's  Uncle  Sweeney,  an'  that  settles 
ii 


154  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

it ;  spring's  comin'  sure  !  "  said  Troutt,  pointing 
at  an  old  man  much  bent,  hobbling  down  the 
street  like  a  symbolic  figure  of  the  old  year. 

"  When  he  gits  out  the  frogs  ain't  fur  be 
hind." 

"We'll  be  gittin'  on  to  the  ground  by  next 
Monday,"  said  Sam  Dingley  to  a  crowd  who 
were  seated  on  the  newly  painted  harrows  and 
seeders  which  "  Svend  &  Johnson  "  had  got  out 
ready  for  the  spring  trade.  "  Svend  &  Johnson's 
Agricultural  Implement  Depot "  was  on  the 
north  side  of  the  street,  and  on  a  spring  day 
the  yard  was  one  of  the  pleasantest  loafing  places 
that  could  be  imagined,  especially  if  one  wished 
company. 

Albert  wished  to  be  alone.  Something  in  the 
touch  and  tone  of  this  spring  afternoon  made 
him  restless  and  full  of  strange  thoughts.  He 
took  his  way  out  along  the  road  which  followed 
the  river  bank,  and  in  the  outskirts  of  the  vil 
lage  threw  himself  down  on  a  bank  of  grass 
which  the  snows  had  protected,  and  which  had 
already  a  tinge  of  green  because  of  its  wealth 
of  sun. 

The  willows  had  thrown  out  their  tiny  light 
green  flags,  though  their  roots  were  under  the 
ice,  and  some  of  the  hard-wood  twigs  were  tinged 
with  red.  There  was  a  faint,  peculiar  but  pow 
erful  odor  of  uncovered  earth  in  the  air,  and 
the  touch  of  the  wind  was  like  a  caress  from  a 
moist  magnetic  hand. 

The  boy  absorbed  the  light  and  heat  of  the 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE. 


155 


sun  as  some  wild  thing  might,  his  hat  over  his 
face,  his  hands  folded  on  his  breast ;  he  lay  as 
still  as  a  statue.  He  did  not  listen  at  first,  he 
only  felt ;  but  at  length  he  rose  on  his  elbow 
and  listened.  The  ice  cracked  and  fell  along 
the  bank  with  a  long,  hollow,  booming  crash  ;  a 
crow  cawed,  and  a  jay  answered  it  from  the 
willows  below.  A  flight  of  sparrows  passed, 
twittering  innumerably.  The  boy  shuddered 
with  a  strange,  wistful  longing  and  a  realization 
of  the  flight  of  time. 

He  could  have  wept,  he  could  have  sung  ;  he 
only  shuddered  and  lay  silent  under  the  stress 
of  that  strange,  sweet  passion  that  quickened 
his  heart,  deepened  his  eyes,  and  made  his  breath 
come  and  go  with  a  quivering  sound.  Across 
the  dazzling  blue  arch  of  the  sky  the  crow 
flapped,  sending  down  his  prophetic,  jubilant 
note ;  the  wind,  as  soft  and  sweet  as  April, 
stirred  in  his  hair ;  the  hills,  deep  in  their  dusky 
blue,  seemed  miles  away  ;  and  the  voices  of  the 
care-free  skaters  on  the  melting  ice  of  the  river 
below  came  to  the  ear  subdued  to  a  unity  with 
the  scene. 

Suddenly  a  fear  seized  upon  the  boy — a  hor 
ror  !  Life,  life  was  passing  !  Life  that  can  be 
lived  only  once,  and  lost,  is  lost  forever  !  Life, 
that  fatal  gift  of  the  Invisible  Powers  to  man — 
a  path,  with  youth  and  joy  and  hope  at  its  east 
ern  gate,  and  despair,  regret,  and  death  at  its 
low  western  portal  ! 

The  boy  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  real  signifi- 


156  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

cance — a  gnat,  a  speck  in  the  sun  :  a  boy  facing 
the  millions  of  great  and  wise  and  wealthy.  He 
leaped  up,  clasping  his  hands. 

"  Oh,  I  must  work  !  I  mustn't  stay  here  ;  I 
must  get  back  to  my  studies.  Life  is  slipping 
by  me,  and  I  am  doing  nothing,  being  noth 
ing  !  " 

His  face,  as  pale  as  death,  absolutely  shone 
with  his  passionate  resolution,  and  his  hands 
were  clinched  in  a  silent,  inarticulate  desire. 

But  on  his  way  back  he  met  the  jocund  party 
of  skaters  going  home  from  the  river,  and  with 
the  easy  shift  and  change  of  youth  joined  in 
their  ringing  laughter.  The  weird  power  of  the 
wind's  voice  was  gone,  and  he  was  the  unthink 
ing  boy  again  ;  but  the  problem  was  only  put 
off,  not  solved. 

He  had  a  suspicion  of  it  one  night  when 
Hartley  said :  "  Well,  pardner,  we're  getting 
'most  ready  to  pull  out.  Some  way  I  always 
get  restless  when  these  warm  days  begin. 
Want  'o  be  moving  some  way." 

This  was  as  sentimental  as  Hartley  ever  got ; 
or,  if  he  ever  felt  more  sentiment,  he  concealed 
it  carefully. 

"  I  s'pose  it  must  'a'  been  in  spring  that  those 
old  chaps,  on  their  steeds  and  in  their  steel 
shirts,  started  out  for  the  Holy  Land  or  to 
rescue  some  damsel,  hey  ? "  he  ended,  with  a 
grin.  "  Now,  that's  the  way  I  feel — just  like 
striking  out  for,  say,  Oshkosh.  This  has  been 
a  big  strike  here,  sure's  you  live ;  that  little 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  157 

piece  of  lofty  tumbling  was  a  big  boom,  and 
no  mistake.  Why,  your  share  o'  this  cam 
paign  will  be  a  hundred  and  twenty  dollars 
sure." 

"  More'n  I've  earned,"  replied  Bert. 

"  No,  it  ain't.  You've  done  your  duty  like  a 
man.  Done  as  much  in  your  way  as  I  have. 
Now,  if  you  want  to  try  another  county  with 
me,  say  so.  I'll  make  a  thousand  dollars  this 
year  out  o'  this  thing." 

"  I  guess  I'll  go  back  to  school." 

"  All  right ;  don't  blame  you  at  all." 

"  I  guess,  with  what  I  can  earn  for  father,  I 
can  pull  through  the  year.  I  must  get  back. 
I'm  awfully  obliged  to  you,  Jim." 

"  That'll  do  on  that,"  said  Hartley  shortly  ; 
"  you  don't  owe  me  anything.  We'll  finish  de 
livery  to-morrow,  and  be  ready  to  pull  out  on 
Friday  or  Sat." 

There  was  an  acute  pain  in  Albert's  breast 
somewhere ;  he  had  not  analyzed  his  case  at 
all,  and  did  not  now,  but  the  idea  of  going 
affected  him  strongly.  It  had  been  so  pleas 
ant,  that  daily  return  to  a  lovely  girlish  pres 
ence. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Hartley  was  going  on  ;  "  I'm  go 
ing  to  just  quietly  leave  a  book  on  her  center 
table.  I  don't  know  as  it'll  interest  her  much, 
but  it'll  show  we  appreciate  the  grub,  and  so  on. 
By  jinks  !  You  don't  seem  to  realize  what  a 
worker  that  woman  is.  Up  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning —  By  the  way,  you've  been  going 


158 


WA  YSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


around  with  the  girl  a  good  deal,  and  she's 
introduced  you  to  some  first-rate  sales ;  now, 
if  you  want  'o  leave  her  a  little  something, 
make  it  a  morocco  copy,  and  charge  it  to  the 
firm." 

Albert  knew  that  he  meant  well,  but  he 
couldn't,  somehow,  help  saying  ironically  : 

"  Thanks  ;  but  I  guess  one  copy  of  Elaine's 
'  Twenty  Years  '  will  be  enough  in  the  house, 
especially " 

"  Well,  give  her  anything  you  please,  and 
charge  it  up  to  the  firm.  I  don't  insist  on 
Elaine  ;  only  suggested  that  because " 

"  I  guess  I  can  stand  the  expense  of  my 
own." 

"  I  didn't  say  you  couldn't,  man  !  But  / 
want  a  hand  in  this  thing.  Don't  be  so  tur- 
rible  keen  t'  snap  a  feller  up,"  said  Hartley, 
turning  on  him.  "  What  the  thunder  is  the 
matter  of  you  anyway  ?  I  like  the  girl,  and 
she's  been  good  to  us  all  round  ;  she  tended 
you  like  an  angel " 

"  There,  there  !  That's  enough  o'  that,"  put 
in  Albert  hastily.  "  F'r  God's  sake  don't  whang 
away  on  that  string  forever,  as  if  I  didn't 
know  it !  " 

Hartley  stared  at  him  as  he  turned  away. 

"Well,  by  jinks!  What  is  the  matter  o' 
you  ? " 

He  was  too  busy  to  dwell  upon  it  much,  but 
concluded  his  partner  was  homesick. 

Albert  was  beginning  to  have  a  vague  under- 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE. 


159 


consciousness  of  his  real  feeling  toward  the 
girl,  but  he  fought  off  the  acknowledgment  of 
it  as  long  as  possible.  His  mind  moved  in  a 
circle,  coming  back  to  the  one  point  ceaselessly 
— a  dreary  prospect,  in  which  the  slender  girl- 
figure  had  no  place — and  each  time  the  prospect 
grew  more  intolerably  blank,  and  the  pain  in  his 
heart  more  acute  and  throbbing. 

When  he  faced  her  that  night,  after  they  had 
returned  from  a  final  skating  party  down  on  the 
river,  he  was  as  far  from  a  solution  as  ever.  He 
had  avoided  all  reference  to  their  separation, 
and  now  he  sto.od  as  a  man  might  at  the  parting 
of  two  paths,  saying :  "  I  will  not  choose ;  I  can 
not  choose.  I  will  wait  for  some  sign,  some 
chance  thing,  to  direct  me." 

They  stood  opposite  each  other,  each  feeling 
that  there  was  more  to  be  said ;  the  girl  ten 
der,  her  eyes  cast  down,  holding  her  hands  to 
the  fire ;  he  shivering,  but  not  with  cold.  He 
had  a  vague  knowledge  of  the  vast  importance 
of  the  moment,  and  he  hesitated  to  speak. 

"  It's  almost  spring  again,  isn't  it  ?  And 
you've  been  here — "  she  paused  and  looked  up 
with  a  daring  smile — "  seems  as  if  you'd  been 
here  always." 

It  was  about  half  past  eight.  Mrs.  Welsh 
was  setting  her  bread  in  the  kitchen  ;  they  could 
hear  her  moving  about.  Hartley  was  down 
town  finishing  up  his  business. 

Albert's  throat  grew  dry  and  his  limbs 
trembled.  His  pause  was  ominous ;  the  girl's 


l6o  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

smile  died  away  as  he  took  a  seat  without  look 
ing  at  her. 

"  Well,  Maud,  I  suppose — you  know — we're 
going  away  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  must  you  ?     But  you'll  come  back  ?  " 

"  I  don't  expect  to — I  don't  see  how." 

u  Oh,  don't  say  that !  "  cried  the  girl,  her 
face  as  white  as  silver,  her  clasped  hands  strain 
ing. 

"  I  must — I  must !  "  he  muttered,  not  look 
ing  at  her,  not  daring  to  see  her  face. 

"  Oh,  what  can  I  do — we  do,  without  you  !  I 
can't  bear  it !  " 

She  stopped  and  sank  back  into  a  chair,  her 
breath  coming  heavily  from  her  twitching  lips, 
the  unnoticed  tears  falling  from  her  staring, 
pitiful,  wild,  appealing  eyes,  her  hands  nervous 
ly  twisting  her  gloves. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Each  was  under 
going  a  self-revelation  ;  each  was  trying  to  face 
a  future  without  the  other. 

"  I  must  go  !  "  he  repeated  aimlessly,  me 
chanically. 

The  girl's  heavy  breathing  deepened  into  a 
wild  little  moaning  sound,  inexpressibly  pitiful, 
her  hungry  eyes  fixed  on  his  face.  She  gave 
way  first,  and  flung  herself  down  upon  her  knees 
at  his  side,  her  hands  seeking  his  neck. 

"  Albert,  I  can't  live  without  you  now  !  Take 
me  with  you  !  Don't  leave  me  !  " 

He  stooped  suddenly  and  took  her  in  his 
arms,  raised  her,  and  kissed  her  hair. 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  j6l 

"  I  didn't  mean  it,  Maud;  I'll  never  leave  you 
— never  !  Don't  cry  !  " 

She  drew  his  faqe  down  to  hers  and  kissed  it, 
then  turned  her  face  to  his  breast  and  laughed 
and  cried.  There  was  a  silence  ;  then  joy  and 
confidence  came  back  again. 

"  I  know  now  what  you  meant,"  the  girl 
cried  gayly,  raising  herself  and  looking  into 
his  face  ;  "  you  were  trying  to  scare  me,  and 
make  me  show  how  much  I — cared  for  you — 
first !  "  There  was  a  soft  smile  on  her  lips 
and  a  tender  light  in  her  eyes.  "  But  I  don't 
mind  it." 

"  I  guess  I  didn't  know  myself  what  I 
meant,"  he  said,  with  a  grave  smile. 

When  Mrs.  Welsh  came  in,  they  were  sitting 
on  the  sofa,  talking  in  low  voices  of  their  future. 
He  was  grave  and  subdued,  while  she  was  radi 
ant  with  love  and  hope.  The  future  had  no 
terrors  for  her.  All  plans  were  good  and  suc 
cessful  now.  But  the  boy  unconsciously  felt 
the  gravity  of  life  somehow  deepened  by  his 
love. 

"  Why,  Maud !  "  Mrs.  Welsh  exclaimed, 
"what  is -" 

"  O  mother,  I'm  so  happy — just  as  happy  as 
a  bird  !  "  she  cried,  rushing  into  her  mother's 
arms. 

.   "  Why,    why  ! — what    is   it  ?      You're  crying, 
dear !  " 

"  No,  I'm  not ;  I'm  laughing — see  !  " 

Mrs.  Welsh  turned  her  dim  eyes  on  the  girl, 


1 62  WA  YSIDE   CO  UR  T SHIPS. 

who  shook  the  tears  from  her  lashes  with  the 
action  of  a  bird  shaking  water  from  its  wings. 
She  seemed  to  shake  off  her  trouble  at  the 
same  moment.  Mrs.  Welsh  understood  per 
fectly. 

"  I'm  very  glad,  too,  dearie,"  she  said  simply, 
looking  at  the  young  man  with  motherly  love 
irradiating  her  worn  face.     Albert  went  to  her, 
and  she  kissed  him,  while    the    happy  girl  put 
her  arms  about  them  both,  in  an  ecstatic  hug. 
"  Now  you've  got  a  son,  mother." 
"  But  I've  lost  a  daughter — my  first-born." 
"  Oh,  wait  till  you  hear  our  plans  !  " 
"  He's  going  to  settle  down  here — aren't  you, 
Albert  ? " 

Then  they  sat  down,  all  three,  and  had  a 
sweet,  intimate  talk  of  an  hour,  full  of  plans 
and  hopes  and  confidences. 

At  last  he  kissed  the  radiant  girl  good  night 
and,  going  into  his  own  room,  sat  down  by  the 
stove  and,  watching  the  flicker  of  the  flames 
through  the  chinks,  pondered  on  the  change 
that  had  come  into  his  life. 

Already  he  sighed  with  the  stress  of  care, 
the  press  of  thought,  which  came  upon  him. 
The  longing  uneasiness  of  the  boy  had  given 
place  to  another  unrest — the  unrest  of  the  man 
who  must  face  the  world  in  earnest  now,  plan 
ning  for  food  and  shelter ;  and  all  plans  included 
Maud. 

To  go  back  to  school  was  out  of  the  ques 
tion.  To  expect  help  from  his  father,  over- 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  163 

worked  and  burdened  with  debt,  was  impossible. 
He  must  go  to  work,  and  go  to  work  to  aid 
her.  A  living  must  be  wrung  from  this  town. 
All  the  home  and  all  the  property  Mrs.  Welsh 
had  were  here,  and  wherever  Maud  went  the 
mother  must  follow  ;  she  could  not  live  without 
her. 

He  was  in  the  midst  of  the  turmoil  when 
Hartley  came  in,  humming  the  "  Mulligan 
Guards." 

"  In  the  dark,  hey  ?  " 

"  Completely  in  the  dark." 

"Well,  light  up,  light  up!" 

"  I'm  trying  to." 

"What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  by  that 
tone  ?  What's  been  going  on  here  since  my 
absence  ?  " 

Albert  did  not  reply,  and  Hartley  shuffled 
about  after  a  match,  lighted  the  lamp,  threw  his 
coat  and  hat  in  the  corner,  and  then  said : 

"Well,  I've  got  everything  straightened  up. 
Been  freezing  out  old  Daggett ;  the  old  skeesix 
has  been  promisin'  f'r  a  week,  and  I  just  said, 
'  Old  man,  I'll  camp  right  down  with  you  here 
till  you  fork  over,'  and  he  did.  By  the  way, 
everybody  I  talked  with  to-day  about  leaving 
said,  '  What's  Lohr  going  to  do  with  that  girl  ? ' 
I  told  'em  I  didn't  know  ;  do  you  ?  It  seems 
you've  been  thicker'n  I  supposed." 

"  I'm  going  to  marry  her,"  said  Albert  calm 
ly,  but  his  voice  sounded  strangely  alien. 

"  Wh'at's  that  ?  "  yelled  Hartley. 


164  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

"  Sh  !  don't  raise  the  neighbors.  I'm  going 
to  marry  her."  He  spoke  quietly,  but  there  was 
a  peculiar  numbness  creeping  over  him. 

"  Well,  by  jinks  !  When  ?  Say,  looky  here  ! 
Well,  I  swanny !  "  exclaimed  Hartley  helplessly. 
"When?" 

"  Right  away  ;  some  time  this  summer — June, 
maybe." 

Hartley  thrust  his  hands  into  his  trousers 
pockets,  stretched  out  his  legs,  and  stared  at  his 
friend  in  vast  amaze. 

"  You're  givin'  me  guff  !  " 

"  I'm  in  dead  earnest." 

"  I  thought  you  was  going  through  college 
all  so  fast  ?  " 

"Well,  I've  made  up  my  mind  it  ain't  much 
use  to  try,"  replied  Albert  listlessly. 

"What  y'  goin'  t'  do  here,  or  are  y'  goin'  t' 
take  the  girl  away  with  yeh  ?  " 

"  She  can't  leave  her  mother.  We'll  run  this 
boarding  house  for  the  present.  I'll  try  for  the 
principalship  of  the  school  here.  Raff  is  going 
to  resign,  he  says  ;  if  I  can't  get  that,  I'll  get 
into  a  law  office  here.  Don't  worry  about  me." 

"  But  why  go  into  this  so  quick  ?  Why  not 
put  it  off  fifteen  or  twenty  years  ?  "  asked  Hart 
ley,  trying  to  get  back  to  cheerful  voice. 

"What  would  be  the  use  ?  At  the  end  of  a 
year  I'd  be  just  about  as  poor  as  I  am  now." 

"  Can't  y'r  father  step  in  and  help  you  ? " 

"  No.  There  are  three  boys  and  two  girls, 
all  younger  than  I,  to  be  looked  out  for,  and 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  ^5 

he  has  all  he  can  carry.  Besides,  she  needs  me 
right  here  and  right  now.  Two  delicate  women 
struggling  along;  suppose  one  of  'em  should 
fall  sick  ?  I  tell  you  they  need  me,  and  if  I  can 
do  anything  to  make  life  easy,  or  easier,  I'm  go 
ing  t'  do  it.  Besides,"  he  ended  in  a  peculiar 
tone,  "we  don't  feel  as  if  we  could  live  apart 
much  longer." 

"  But,  great  Scott !  man,  you  can't " 

"  Now,  hold  on,  Jim !  I've  thought  this 
thing  all  over,  and  I've  made  up  my  mind.  It 
ain't  any  use  to  go  on  talking  about  it.  What 
good  would  it  do  me  to  go  to  school  another 
year,  come  out  without  a  dollar,  and  no  more 
fitted  for  earning  a  living  for  her  than  I  am 
now  ?  And,  besides  all  that,  I  couldn't  draw  a 
free  breath  thinking  of  her  here  workin'  away  to 
keep  things  moving,  liable  at  any  minute  to 
break  down." 

Hartley  gazed  at  him  in  despair,  and  with 
something  like  awe.  It  was  a  tremendous  trans 
formation  in  the  young,  ambitious  student.  He 
felt  in  a  way  responsible  for  the  calamity,  and 
that  he  ought  to  use  every  effort  to  bring  the 
boy  to  his  senses. 

Like  most  men  in  America,  and  especially 
Western  men,  he  still  clung  to  the  idea  that  a 
man  was  entirely  responsible  for  his  success  or 
failure  in  life.  He  had  not  admitted  that  con 
ditions  of  society  might  be  so  adverse  that  only 
men  of  most  exceptional  endowments,  and  will 
ing  and  able  to  master  many  of  the  best  and 


T66  WA  YSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

deepest  and  most  sacred  of  their  inspirations 
and  impulses,  could  succeed. 

Of  the  score  of  specially  promising  young 
fellows  who  had  been  with  him  at  school,  seven 
teen  had  dropped  out  and  down.  Most  of  them 
had  married  and  gone  back  to  farming,  or  to 
eajn  a  precarious  living  in  the  small,  dull 
towns  where  farmers  trade  and  traders  farm. 
Conditions  were  too  adverse;  they  simply  weak 
ened  and  slipped  slowly  back  into  dullness  and 
an  oxlike  or  else  a  fretful  patience.  Thinking  of 
these  men,  and  thinking  their  failure  due  to 
themselves  alone,  Hartley  could  not  endure  the 
idea  of  his  friend  adding  one  more  to  the  list 
of  failures.  He  sprang  up  at  last. 

"  Say,  Bert,  you  might  just  as  well  hang 
y'rself,  and  done  with  it !  Why,  it's  suicide  ! 
I  can't  allow  it.  I  started  in  at  college  brave 
ly,  and  failed  because  I'd  let  it  go  too  long. 
I  couldn't  study  —  couldn't  get  down  to  it; 
but  you  —  why,  old  man,  I'd  bet  on  you!" 
He  had  a  tremor  in  his  voice.  "  I  hate  like 
thunder  to  see  you  give  up  your  plans.  Say, 
you  can't  afford  to  do  this ;  it's  too  much  to 
pay." 

"  No,  it  ain't." 

"  I  say  it  is.     What  do  you  get,  in " 

"  I  think  so  much  o'  her  that " 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  You'd  get  over  this  in  a 
week." 

"  Jim  !  "  called  Albert  warningly,  sharply. 

"  All  right,"  said  Jim,  in  the  tone  of  a  man 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE. 


who  felt  that  it  was  all  wrong  —  l'  all  right  ; 
but  the  time'll  come  when  you'll  wish  I'd  — 
You  ain't  doin'  the  girl  enough  good  to  make 
up  for  the  harm  you're  doin'  yourself."  He 
broke  off  again,  and  said  in  a  tone  of  pecul 
iar  meaning  :  "  I'm  done.  I'm  all  through,  and 
I  c'n  see  you're  through  with  Jim  Hartley. 
Why,  Bert,  look  here—  No  ?  All  right  !  " 

"  Darn  curious,"  he  muttered  to  himself, 
"  that  boy  should  get  caught  just  at  this  time, 
and  not  with  some  one  o*  those  girls  in  Marion. 
Well,  it's  none  o'  my  funeral,"  he  ended,  with  a 
sigh  ;  for  it  had  stirred  him  to  the  bottom  of 
his  sunny  nature,  after  all.  A  dozen  times,  as 
he  lay  there  beside  his  equally  sleepless  com 
panion,  he  started  to  say  something  more  in  dep 
recation  of  the  step,  but  each  time  stifled  the 
opening  word  into  a  groan. 

It  would  not  be  true  to  say  that  love  had 
come  to  Albert  Lohr  as  a  relaxing  influence, 
but  it  had  changed  the  direction  of  his  energies 
so  radically  as  to  make  his  whole  life  seem 
weaker  and  lower.  As  long  as  his  love-dreams 
went  out  toward  a  vague  and  ideal  woman, 
supposedly  higher  and  grander  than  himself, 
he  was  spurred  on  to  face  the  terrible  sheer 
escarpment  of  social  eminence  ;  but  when  he 
met,  by  accident,  the  actual  woman  who  was  to 
inspire  his  future  efforts,  the  difficulties  he  faced 
took  on  solid  reality. 

His  aspirations  fell  to  the  earth,  their  wings 
clipped,  and  became,  perforce,  submissive  beasts 


X68  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

at  the  plow.  The  force  that  moved  so  much  of 
his  thought  was  transformed  into  other  energy. 
Whether  it  were  a  wise  step  or  not  he  did  not 
know  ;  he  certainly  knew  it  was  right. 

The  table  was  very  gay  at  dinner  next  day. 
Maud  was  standing  at  the  highest  point  of  her 
girlhood  dreams.  Her  flushed  face  and  shin 
ing  eyes  made  her  seem  almost  a  child,  and 
Hartley  wondered  at  her,  and  relented  a  little 
in  the  face  of  such  happiness.  Her  face  was 
turned  to  Albert  in  an  unconscious,  beautiful 
way  ;  she  had  nothing  to  conceal  now. 

Mrs.  Welsh  was  happy,  too,  but  a  little  tear 
ful  in  an  unobtrusive  way.  Troutt  had  his  jokes, 
of  course,  not  very  delicate,  but  of  good  inten 
tion.  In  fact,  they  were  as  flags  and  trumpets 
to  the  young  people.  Mrs.  Welsh  had  confided 
in  him,  telling  him  to  be  secret ;  but  the  finesse 
of  his  joking  could  not  fail  to  reveal  everything 
he  knew. 

But  Maud  cared  little.  She  was  filled  with 
a  sort  of  tender  boldness ;  and  Albert,  in  the 
delight  of  the  hour,  gave  himself  up  wholly  to 
a  trust  in  the  future  and  to  the  fragrance  and 
music  of  love. 

"  They're  gay  as  larks  now,"  thought  Hart 
ley  to  himself,  as  he  joined  in  the  laughter ; 
"  but  that  won't  help  'em  any,  ten  years  from 
now." 

He  could  hardly  speak  next  day  as  he  shook 
hands  at  the  station  with  his  friend. 

"  Good-by,  ol'  man ;  I  hope  it'll  come  out  all 


A    STOP-OVER  AT   TYRE.  i£>g 

right,  but  I'm  afraid —  But  there  !  1  promised 
not  to  say  anything  about  it.  Good-by  till  we 
meet  in  Congress,"  he  ended  in  a  lamentable  at 
tempt  at  being  funny. 

"  Can't  you  come  to  the  wedding,  Jim  ? 
We've  decided  on  June.  You  see,  they  need 
a  man  around  the  house,  so  we —  You'll  come, 
won't  you,  old  fellow  ?  And  don't  mind  my 
being  a  little  crusty  last  night  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I'll  come,"  Jim  said,  in  a  tone 
which  concealed  a  desire  to  utter  one  more 
protest. 

"  It's  no  use ;  that  ends  him,  sure's  I'm  a 
thief.  He's  jumped  into  a  hole  and  pulled 
the  hole  in  after  him.  A  man  can't  marry  a 
family  like  that  at  his  age,  and  pull  out  of  it. 
He  may,  but  I  doubt  it.  Well,  as  I  remarked 
before,  it's  none  oj  my  funeral  so  long  as  he's 
satisfied." 

But  he  said  it  with  a  painful  lump  in  his 
throat,  and  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  feel 
that  Albert's  course  was  right,  and  felt  himself 
to  be  somehow  culpable  in  the  case. 


12 


AN   ALIEN   IN   THE   PINES. 

I. 

A  MAN  and  a  woman  were  pacing  up  and 
down  the  wintry  station  platform,  waiting  for  a 
train.  On  every  side  the  snow  lay  a  stained  and 
crumpled  blanket,  with  here  and  there  a  light 
or  a  chimney  to  show  the  village  sleeping  be 
neath. 

The  sky  was  a  purple-black  hemisphere,  out 
of  which  the  stars  glittered  almost  white.  The 
wind  came  out  of  the  west,  cold  but  amiable  ; 
the  cracked  bell  of  a  switch  engine  gurgled 
querulously  at  intervals,  followed  by  the  bump 
ing  of  coupling  freight  cars ;  roosters  were 
crowing,  and  sleepy  train  men  were  assembling 
in  sullen  silence. 

The  couple  walked  with  arms  locked  like 
lovers,  but  the  tones  of  their  voices  had  the 
quality  which  comes  after  marriage.  They  were 
man  and  wrife. 

The  woman's  clear  voice  arose.  "  O  Ed, 
isn't  this  delicious  ?  What  one  misses  by  not 
getting  up  early  !  " 

"  Sleep,  for  instance,"  laughed  her  husband. 

171 


If 2  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

"  Don't  drag  me  down.  You  know  what  I 
mean.  Let's  get  up  early  every  morning  while 
we're  up  here  in  the  woods." 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  if  we  had  to.  There'll 
be  a  lot  to  do,  and  I  want  to  get  back  to  Chi 
cago  by  the  ist  of  February." 

"  This  is  an  experience  !  Isn't  it  still  ?  When 
is  our  train  due  ?  " 

"  Due  now ;  I  think  that  is  our  headlight 
up  the  track." 

As  he  spoke,  an  engine  added  its  voice  to  the 
growing  noise  of  the  station,  and  drew  solemnly 
down  the  frosty  steel. 

An  eruption  of  shapeless  forms  of  men  from 
the  depot  filled  the  one  general  coach  of  the 
train.  They  nearly  all  were  dressed  in  some 
sort  of  fur  coat,  and  all  had  the  look  of  men 
accustomed  to  outdoor  life  —  powerful,  loud- 
voiced,  unrefined.  They  were,  in  fact,  travel 
ing  men,  business  men,  the  owners  of  mills  or 
timber.  The  stolid  or  patient  oxlike  faces  of 
some  Norwegian  workmen,  dressed  in  gay  Mack- 
inac  jackets,  were  sprinkled  about. 

The  young  wife  was  a  fine  type  of  woman 
anywhere,  but  these  surroundings  made  her 
seem  very  dainty  and  startlingly  beautiful.  Her 
husband  had  the  fair  skin  of  a  city  man,  but  his 
powerful  shoulders  and  firm  step  denoted  health 
and  wholesome  living.  They  were  good  to  see 
as  man  and  wife. 

They  soon  felt  the  reaction  to  sleepiness 
which  comes  to  those  not  accustomed  to  early 


AN  ALIEN  IN   THE  PINES.  173 

rising,  and  the  wife,  soothed  by  the  clank  of  the 
train,  leaned  her  head  on  her  husband's  shouK- 
der  and  dozed.  He  looked  out  upon  the  land 
scape,  glad  that  his  wife  was  not  observing  it. 
He  did  not  know  such  desolation  existed  in 
Wisconsin. 

On  every  side  were  the  evidences  of  a  ruined 
forest  land.  A  landscape  of  flat  wastes,  of 
thinned  and  burned  and  uprooted  trees.  A  deso 
late  and  apparently  useless  land. 

Here  and  there  a  sawmill  stood  gray  and 
sagging,  surrounded  by  little  cabins  of  unpaint- 
ed  wood,  to  testify  to  the  time  when  great  pines 
stood  all  about,  and  the  ring  of  the  swamper's 
axe  was  heard  in  the  intervals  of  silence  between 
the  howls  of  a  saw. 

To  the  north  the  swells  grew  larger.  Birch 
and  tamarack  swamps  alternated  with  dry  ridges 
on  which  an  inferior  pine  still  grew.  The 
swamps  were  dense  tangles  of  broken  and  up 
rooted  trees.  Slender  pikelike  stumps  of  fire- 
devastated  firs  rose  here  and  there,  black  and 
grim  skeletons  of  trees. 

It  was  a  land  that  had  been  sheared  by  the 
axe,  torn  by  the  winds,  and  blasted  by  fire. 

Off  to  the  west  low  blue  ridges  rose,  marking 
the  boundaries  of  the  valley  which  had  been 
washed  out  ages  ago  by  water.  After  the  floods 
it  had  sprung  up  to  pine  forests,  and  these  in 
their  turn  had  been  sheared  away  by  man.  It 
lay  now  awaiting  the  plow  arid  seeder  of  the 
intrepid  pioneer. 


WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 


Suddenly  the  wife  roused  up.  "Why,  we 
haven't  had  any  breakfast  !  " 

He  smiled  at  her  childish  look  of  bewilder 
ment.  "  I've  been  painfully  aware  of  it  for 
some  time  back.  I've  been  suffering  for  food 
while  you  slept." 

"  Why  didn't  you  get  into  the  basket  ?  " 

"  How  could  I,  with  you  on  my  manly 
bosom  ?  " 

She  colored  up  a  little.  They  had  not  been 
married  long,  evidently. 

They  were  soon  eating  a  breakfast  with  the 
spirit  of  picnickers.  Occasionally  she  looked 
out  of  the  window. 

"What  a  wild  country!"  she  said.  He  did 
not  emphasize  its  qualities  to  her  ;  rather,  he 
distracted  her  attention  from  the  desolation. 

The  train  roared  round  its  curves,  conform 
ing  with  the  general  course  of  the  river.  On 
every  hand  were  thickening  signs  of  active  lum 
ber  industry.  They  flashed  by  freight  trains 
loaded  with  logs  or  lumber  or  ties.  Mills  in 
operation  grew  thicker. 

The  car  echoed  with  the  talk  of  lumber.  A 
brisk  man  with  a  red  mustache  was  exhibiting 
a  model  of  a  machine  to  cut  certain  parts  of 
machinery  out  of  "  two  by  fours."  Another 
was  describing  a  new  shingle  mill  he  had  just 
built. 

A  couple  of  elderly  men,  one  a  German,  were 
discussing  the  tariff  on  lumber.  The  workmen 
mainly  sat  silent. 


AN  ALIEN  IN   THE  PINES.  ^5 

"  It's  all  so  strange  !  "  the  young  wife  said 
again  and  again. 

"Yes,  it  isn't  exactly  the  Lake  Shore  drive." 

"  I  like  it.     I  wish  I  could  smell  the  pines." 

"You'll  have  all  the  pines  you  can  stand  be 
fore  we  get  back  to  Chicago." 

"  No,  sir  ;  I'm  going  to  enjoy  every  moment 
of  it ;  and  you're  going  to  let  me  help,  you  know 
— look  over  papers  and  all  that.  I'm  the  heir 
ess,  you  must  remember,"  she  said  wickedly. 

"Well,  we  won't  quarrel  about  that  until  we 
see  how  it  all  turns  out.  It  may  not  be  worth 
my  time  up  here.  I  shall  charge  you  roundly 
as  your  lawyer  ;  depend  on  that." 

The  outlook  grew  more  attractive  as  the 
train  sped  on.  Old  Mosinee  rose,  a  fine  round 
ed  blue  shape,  on  the  left. 

"Why,  there's  a  mountain!  I  didn't  know 
Wisconsin  had  such  a  mountain  as  that." 

"  Neither  did  I.  This  valley  is  fine.  Now, 
if  your  uncle's  estates  only  included  that 
hill !  " 

The  valley  made  off  to  the  northwest  with  a 
bold,  large,  and  dignified  movement.  The  color 
ing,  blue  and  silver,  purple-brown  and  bronze- 
green,  was  suitable  to  the  grouping  of  lines.  It 
was  all  fresh  and  vital,  wholesome  and  very  im 
pressive. 

From  this  point  the  land  grew  wilder — that 
is,  more  primeval.  There  was  more  of  Nature 
and  less  of  man.  The  scar  of  the  axe  was  here 
and  there,  but  the  forest  predominated.  The 


1^6  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

ridges  of  pine  foliages  broke  against  the  sky 
miles  and  miles  in  splendid  sweep. 

"  This  must  be  lovely  in  summer,"  the  wife 
said,  again  and  again,  as  they  flashed  by  some 
lake  set  among  the  hills. 

"  It's  fine  now,"  he  replied,  feeling  the  thrill 
of  the  sportsman.  "  I'd  like  to  shoulder  a  rifle 
and  plunge  into  those  snowy  vistas.  How  it 
brings  the  wild  spirit  out  in  a  man  !  Women 
never  feel  that  delight." 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  do,"  she  replied,  glad  that 
something  remained  yet  unexplained  between 
them.  "We  feel  just  like  men,  only  we  haven't 
the  strength  of  mind  to  demand  a  share  of  it 
with  you." 

"  Yes,  you  feel  it  at  this  distance.  You'd 
come  back  mighty  quick  the  second  night 
out." 

She  did  not  relish  his  laughter,  and  so  looked 
away  out  of  the  window.  "  Just  think  of  it — 
Uncle  Edwin  lived  here  thirty  years  !  " 

He  forbore  to  notice  her  inconsistency. 
"  Yes,  the  wilderness  is  all  right  for  a  vaca 
tion,  but  I  prefer  Chicago  for  the  year  round." 

When  they  came  upon  Ridgeley,  both  cried 
out  with  delight. 

"  Oh,  what  a  dear,  picturesque  little  town  !  " 
she  said. 

"  Well,  well !  I  wonder  how  they  came  to 
build  a  town  without  a  row  of  battlemented 
stores  ? " 

It  lay  among  and  upon  the  sharp,  low,  stumpy 


AN  ALIEN  IN   THE  PINES.  177 

pine  ridges  in  haphazard  fashion,  like  a  Swiss 
village.  A  small  brook  ran  through  it,  smoth 
ered  here  and  there  in  snow.  A  sawmill  was 
the  largest  figure  of  the  town,  and  the  railway 
station  was  the  center.  There  was  not  an  inch 
of  painted  board  in  the  village.  Everywhere 
the  clear  yellow  of  the  pine  flamed  unstained 
by  time.  Lumber  piles  filled  all  the  lower  levels 
near  the  creek.  Evidently  the  town  had  been  built 
along  logging  roads,  and  there  was  something 
grateful  and  admirable  in  its  irregular  arrange 
ment.  The  houses,  moreover,  were  all  modifi 
cations  of  the  logging  camps  ;  even  the  drug 
store  stood  with  its  side  to  the  street.  All  about 
were  stumps  and  fringes  of  pines,  which  the 
lumbermen,  for  some  good  reason,  had  passed 
by.  Charred  boles  stood  purple-black  out  of 
the  snow. 

It  was  all  green  and  gray  and  blue  and 
yellow-white  and  wild.  The  sky  was  not  more 
illimitable  than  the  rugged  forest  which  extend 
ed  on  every  hand. 

'•  Oh,  this  is  glorious — glorious  !  "  said  the 
wife.  "  Do  I  own  some  of  this  town  ? "  she 
asked,  as  they  rose  to  go  out. 

"  I  reckon  you  do." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  !  " 

As  they  stepped  out  on  the  platform,  a  large 
man  in  corduroy  and  wolf-skin  faced  them  like 
a  bandit. 

"  Hello,  Ed  !  " 

"  Hello,  Jack  !     Well,  we've  found  you.     My 


WA  YSIDE   CO  UR  T  SHIPS. 


wife,  Mr.  Ridgeley.  We've  come  up  to  find  out 
how  much  you've  embezzled,"  he  said,  as  Ridge- 
ley  pulled  off  an  immense  glove  to  shake  hands 
all  round. 

"  Well,  come  right  over  to  the  hotel.  It  ain't 
the  Auditorium,  but  then,  again,  it  ain't  like 
sleeping  outdoors." 

As  they  moved  along  they  heard  the  train 
go  off,  and  then  the  sound  of  the  saw  resumed 
its  domination  of  the  village  noises. 

"  Was  the  town  named  after  you,  or  you  after 
the  town  ?  "  asked  Field. 

"  Named  after  me.  Old  man  didn't  want  it 
named  after  him  ;  would  kill  it,"  he  said. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Field  found  the  hotel  quite 
comfortable  and  the  dinner  wholesome.  They 
beamed  upon  each  other. 

"  It's  going  to  be  delightful,"  they  said. 

Ridgeley  was  a  bachelor,  and  found  his  home 
at  the  hotel  also.  That  night  he  said  :  "  Now 
we'll  go  over  the  papers  and  records  of  your 
uncle's  property,  and  then  we'll  go  out  and  see 
if  the  property  is  all  there.  I  imagine  this  is 
to  be  a  searching  investigation." 

"  You  may  well  think  it.  My  wife  is  inex 
orable." 

As  night  fell,  the  wife  did  not  feel  so  safe 
and  well  pleased.  The  loud  talking  in  the 
office  below  and  the  occasional  whooping  of  a 
crowd  of  mill  hands  going  by  made  her  draw 
her  chair  nearer  and  lay  her  fingers  in  her  hus 
band's  palm. 


AN  ALIEN  IN   THE  PINES. 


179 


He  smiled  indulgently.  "  Don't  be  fright 
ened,  my  dear.  These  men  are  not  half  so  bad 
as  they  sound." 

II. 

MRS.  FIELD  sat  in  the  inner  room  of  Ridge- 
ley's  office,  waiting  for  the  return  of  her  hus 
band  with  the  team.  They  were  going  out  for  a 
drive. 

Ridgeley  was  working  at  his  books,  and  he 
had  forgotten  her  presence. 

She  could  not  but  feel  a  deep  admiration  for 
his  powerful  frame  and  his  quick,  absorbed  ac 
tion  as  he  moved  about  from  his  safe  to  his 
desk.  He  was  a  man  of  great  force  and  ready 
decision. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened  and  a  man  entered. 
He  had  a  sullen  and  bitter  look  on  his  thin, 
dark  face.  Ridgeley's  quick  eyes  measured 
him,  and  his  hand  softly  turned  the  key  in  his 
money  drawer,  and  as  he  faced  about  he  swung 
shut  the  door  of  the  safe. 

The  stranger  saw  all  this  with  eyes  as  keen 
as  Ridgeley's.  A  cheerless  and  strange  smile 
came  upon  his  face. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,"  he  said.  "  I'm  low,  but 
I  ain't  as  low  as  that." 

"  Well,  sir,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ? "  asked 
Ridgeley.  Mrs,  Field  half  rose,  and  her  heart 
beat  terribly.  She  felt  something  tense  and 
strange  in  the  attitude  of  the  two  men. 


l8o  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

But  the  man  only  said,  "  You  can  give  me  a 
job  if  you  want  to." 

Ridgeley  remained  alert.  He  ran  his  eyes 
over  the  man's  tall  frame.  He  looked  strong 
and  intelligent,  although  his  eyes  were  fevered 
and  dull. 

"What  kind  of  a  job?" 

"Any  kind  that  will  take  me  out  into  the 
woods  and  keep  me  there,"  the  man  replied. 

There  was  a  self-accusing  tone  in  his  voice 
that  Ridgeley  felt. 

"What's  your  object  ?  You  look  like  a  man 
who  could  do  something  else.  What  brings 
you  here  ?  " 

The  man  turned  with  a  sudden  resolution  to 
punish  himself.  His  voice  expressed  a  terrible 
loathing. 

"  Whisky,  that's  what.  It's  a  hell  of  a  thing 
to  say,  but  I  can't  let  liquor  alone  when  I  can 
smell  it.  I'm  no  common  hand,  or  I  wouldn't  be 
if  I —  But  let  that  go.  I  can  swing  an  axe, 
and  I'm  ready  to  work.  That's  enough.  Now 
the  question  is,  can  you  find  a  place  for  me  ? " 

Ridgeley  mused  a  little.  The  young  fellow 
stood  there,  statuesque,  rebellious. 

Then  Ridgeley  said,  "  I  guess  I  can  help  you 
out  that  much."  He  picked  up  a  card  and  a 
pencil.  "  What  shall  I  call  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  call  me  Williams ;  that  ain't  my  name, 
but  it'll  do." 

"  What  you  been  doing  ?  " 

"  Everything  part  of  the  time,  drinking  the 


AN  ALIEN  IN   THE  PINES.  jgi 

rest.  Was  in  a  livery  stable  down  at  Wausau 
last  week.  It  came  over  me,  when  I  woke  yes 
terday,  that  I  was  gone  to  hell  if  I  stayed  in  town. 
So  I  struck  out ;  and  I  don't  care  for  myself, 
but  I've  got  a  woman  to  look  out  for — "  He 
stopped  abruptly.  His  recklessness  of  mood 
had  its  limits,  after  all. 

Ridgeley  penciled  on  a  card.  "  Give  this  to 
the  foreman  of  No.  6.  The  men  over  at  the  mill 
will  show  you  the  teams." 

The  man  started  toward  the  door  with  the 
card  in  his  hand.  He  turned  suddenly. 

"  One  thing  more.  I  want  you  to  send  ten 
dollars  of  my  pay  every  two  weeks  to  this  ad 
dress."  He  took  an  envelope  out  of  his  pocket. 
"  It  don't  matter  what  I  say  or  do  after  this,  I 
want  that  money  sent.  The  rest  will  keep  me  in 
tobacco  and  clothing.  You  understand  ?  " 

Ridgeley  nodded.  "  Perfectly.  I've  seen 
such  cases  before/' 

The  man  went  out  and  down  the  walk  with  a 
hurried,  determined  air,  as  if  afraid  of  his  own 
resolution. 

As  Ridgeley  turned  toward  his  desk  he  met 
Mrs.  Field,  who  faced  him  with  tears  of  fervent 
sympathy  in  her  eyes. 

"  Isn't  it  awful  ?"  she  said,  in  a  half  whisper. 
"  Poor  fellow,  what  will  become  of  him  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  He'll  get  along  some 
way.  Such  fellows  do.  I've  had  'em  before. 
They  try  it  a  while  here ;  then  they  move.  I 
can't  worry  about  them." 


1 82  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

Mrs.  Field  was  not  listening  to  his  shifty 
words.  <k  And  then,  think  of  his  wife — how  she 
must  worry." 

Ridgeley  smiled.  "  Perhaps  it's  his  mother 
or  a  sister." 

"Anyway  it's  awful.  Can't  something  be 
done  for  him  ?  " 

"  I  guess  we've  done  about  all  that  can  be 
done." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  help  him  !  I'll  tell  Ed 
about  him." 

"  Don't  worry  about  him,  Mrs.  Field  ;  he  ain't 
worth  it." 

"  Oh  yes,  he  is.  I  feel  he's  been  a  good  boy 
once,  and  then  he's  so  self-accusing." 

Her  own  happiness  was  so  complete,  she 
could  not  bear  to  think  of  others'  misery.  She 
told  her  husband  about  Williams,  and  ended  by 
asking,  "  Can't  we  do  anything  to  help  the  poor 
fellow  ? " 

Field  was  not  deeply  concerned.  "  No  ;  he's 
probably  past  help.  Such  men  are  so  set  in 
their  habits,  nothing  but  a  miracle  or  hypno 
tism  can  save  them.  He'll  end  up  as  a  '  lumber 
Jack,'  as  the  townsmen  call  the  hands  in  the 
camps." 

"  But  he  isn't  that,  Edward.  He's  finer 
some  way.  You  feel  he  is.  Ask  Mr.  Ridge- 
ley." 

Ridgeley  merely  said  :  "  Yes,  he  seemed  to 
me  to  be  more  than  a  common  hand.  But,  all 
the  same,  it  won't  be  two  weeks  before  he'll  be 


AN  ALIEN  IN   THE  PINES. 


183 


in  here  as  drunk  as  a  wild  cat,  wanting  to  shoot 
me  for  holding  back  his  money." 

In  this  way  Williams  came  to  be  to  Mrs.  Field 
a  very  important  figure  in  the  landscape  of  that 
region.  She  often  spoke  of  him,  and  on  the 
following  Saturday  night,  when  Field  came 
home,  she  anxiously  asked,  "  Is  Williams  in 
town  ?  " 

"  No,  he  hasn't  shown  up  yet." 

She  clapped  her  hands  in  delight.  "  Good  ! 
good  !  He's  going  to  win  his  fight." 

Field  laughed.  "  Don't  bet  on  Williams  too 
soon.  We'll  hear  from  him  before  the  week  is 
out." 

"  When  are  we  going  to  visit  the  camp  ?  " 
she  asked,  changing  the  subject. 

"As  soon  as  it  warms  up  a  little.  It  is  too 
cold  for  you." 

She  had  a  laugh  at  him.  "  You  were  the 
one  who  wanted  to  *  plunge  into  the  snowy 
vistas.'  " 

He  evaded  her  joke  on -him  by  assuming  a 
careless  tone.  "  I'm  not  plunging  as  much  as  I 
was  ;  the  snow  is  too  deep." 

"When  you  go  I  want  to  go  with  you — I 
want  to  see  Williams." 

"  Ha  !  "  he  snorted  melodramatically.  "  She 
scorns  me  faithful  heart.  She  turns " 

Mrs.  Field  smiled  faintly.  "  Don't  joke 
about  it  Ed.  I  can't  get  that  wife  out  of  my 
mind." 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


III. 

A  FEW  very  cold  gray  days  followed,  and 
then  the  north  wind  cleared  the  sky  ;  and,  though 
it  was  still  cold,  it  was  pleasant.  The  sky  had 
only  a  small  white  cloud  here  and  there  to  make 
its  blueness  the  more  profound. 

Ridgeley  dashed  up  to  the  door  with  a  hardy 
little  pair  of  bronchos  hitched  to  a  light  pair  of 
bobs,  and  Mrs.  Field  was  tucked  in  like  a  babe 
in  a  cradle. 

Almost  the  first  thing  she  asked  was,  "  How 
is  Williams  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he's  getting  on  nicely.  He  refused 
to  sleep  with  his  bunk  mate,  and  finally  had  to 
lick  him,  I  understand,  to  shut  him  up.  Chal 
lenged  the  whole  camp  then  to  let  him  alone 
or  take  a  licking.  They  let  him  alone,  Lawson 
says. — G'lang  there,  you  rats  !  " 

Mrs.  Field  said  no  more,  for  the  air  was 
whizzing  by  her  ears,  and  she  hardly  dared  look 
out,  so  keen-  was  the  wind,  but  as  soon  as  they 
entered  the  deeps  of  the  forest  it  was  profound 
ly  still. 

The  ride  that  afternoon  was  a  glory  she 
never  forgot.  Everywhere  yellow-greens  and 
purple  shadows.  The  sun  in  a  burnished  blue 
sky  flooded  the  forests  with  light,  striking 
down  through  even  the  thickest  pines  to  lay 
in  fleckings  of  radiant  white  and  gold  upon  the 
snow. 

The  trail  (it  was  not  a  road)  ran  like  a  grace- 


AN  ALIEN  IN   THE  PINES.  185 

ful  furrow  over  the  hills,  around  little  lakes 
covered  deep  with  snow,  through  tamarack 
swamps  where  the  tracks  of  wild  things  thick 
ened,  over  ridges  of  tall  pine  clear  of  brush, 
and  curving  everywhere  amid  stumps,  where 
dismantled  old  shanties  marked  the  site  of 
the  older  logging  camps.  Sometimes  they  met 
teams  going  to  the  store.  Sometimes  they 
crossed  logging  roads  —  wide,  smooth  tracks 
artificially  iced,  down  which  mountainous  loads 
of  logs  were  slipping,  creaking  and  groaning. 
Sometimes  they  heard  the  dry  click-clock  of 
the  woodsmen's  axes,  or"  the  crash  of  falling 
trees  deep  in  the  wood.  When  they  reached  the 
first  camp,  Ridgeley  pulled  up  the  steaming 
horses  at  the  door  and  shouted,  "  Hello,  the 
camp  !  " 

A  tall  old  man  with  a  long  red  beard  came 
out.  He  held  one  bare  red  arm  above  his  eyes. 
He  wore  an  apron. 

"  Hello,  Sandy  !  " 

"  Hello,  Mr.  Ridgeley  !  " 

"  Ready  for  company  ?  " 

"  Am  always  ready  for  company,"  he  said, 
with  a  Scotch  accent. 

"  Well,  we're  coming  in  to  get  warm." 

"Vera  wal." 

As  they  went  in,  under  the  roofed  shed  be 
tween  the  cook's  shanty  and  the  other  and  larger 
shanty,  Mrs.  Field  sniffed.  Sandy  led  them  past 
a  large  pyramid  composed  of  the  scraps  of  beef 
bones,  eggshells,  cans,  and  tea  grounds  left  over 
13 


!86  WAYSIDE   COURTSPTIPS. 

during  the  winter.  In  the  shed  itself  hung  great 
slabs  of  beef. 

It  was  as  untidy  and  suggestive  of  slaughter 
as  the  nest  of  a  brood  of  eagles. 

Sandy  was  beginning  dinner  on  a  huge  stove 
spotted  with  rust  and  pancake  batter.  All  about 
was  the  litter  of  his  preparation.  Beef — beef  on 
all  sides,  and  tin  dishes  and  bare  benches  and 
huge  iron  cooking  pans. 

Mrs.  Field  was  glad  to  get  out  into  the  sun 
light  again. 

"What  a  horrible  place!  Are  they  all  like 
that  ?  " 

"  No,  my  camps  are  not  like  that — or,  I 
should  say,  our  camps,"  Ridgeley  added,  with  a 
smile. 

"  Not  a  gay  place  at  all,"  said  Field,  in  ex 
aggerated  reserve. 

But  Mrs.  Field  found  her  own  camps  not 
much  better.  True,  the  refuse  was  not  raised  in 
pyramidal  shape  before  the  front  door,  and  the 
beef  was  a  little  more  orderly,  but  the  low  log 
huts,  the  dim  cold  light,  the  dingy  walls  and 
floors,  the  lack  of  any  womanly  or  home  touch, 
the  tin  dishes,  the  wholesale  cooking,  all  struck 
upon  her  with  terrible  force. 

"  Do  human  beings  live  here  ?  "  she  asked 
Ridgeley,  when  he  opened  the  door  of  the  main 
shanty  of  No.  6. 

"  Forty  creatures  of  the  men  kind  sleep  and 
house  here,"  he  replied. 

"  To  which  the  socks  and   things  give  evi- 


AN  ALIEN  IN   THE  PINES.  187 

dence,"  said  Field  promptly,  pointing  toward 
the  huge  stove  which  sat  like  a  rusty-red  cheese 
in  the  center  of  the  room.  Above  it  hung  scores 
of  ragged  gray  and  red  socks  and  Mackinac 
boots  and  jackets  which  had  been  washed  by 
the  men  themselves. 

Around  were  the  grimy  bunks  where  the 
forty  men  slept  like  tramps  in  a  steamer's 
hold.  The  quilts  were  grimy,  and  the  posts 
greasy  and  shining  with  the  touch  of  hands. 
There  were  no  chairs — only  a  kind  of  rude 
stool  made  of  boards.  There  were  benches 
near  the  stove  nailed  to  the  rough  floor.  In 
each  bunk,  hanging  to  a  peg,  was  the  poor 
little  imitation-leather  hand-bag  which  contained 
the  whole  wardrobe  of  each  man,  exclusive  of 
the  tattered  socks  and  shirts  hanging  over  the 
stove. 

The  room  was  chill  and  cold  and  gray.  It 
had  only  two  small  windows.  Its  doors  were 
low.  Even  Mrs.  Field  was  forced  to  stoop  in 
entering.  This  made  it  seem  more  like  a  den. 
There  were  roller  towels  in  the  corner,  and 
washbasins,  and  a  grindstone,  which  made  it 
seem  like  a  barn.  It  was,  in  fact,  more  cheer 
less  than  the  barn,  and  less  wholesome. 

"Doesn't  that  hay  in  the  bunks  get  a — a — 
sometimes  ?  "  asked  Field. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  shouldn't  wonder,  though  the 
men  are  pretty  strict  about  that.  They  keep 
pretty  free  from  that,  I  think.  However,  I 
shouldn't  want  to  run  no  river  chances  on  the 


1 88  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

thing  myself."  Ridgeley  smiled  at  Mrs.  Field's 
shudder  of  horror. 

"Is  this  the  place?"  The  men  laughed. 
She  had  asked  that  question  so  many  times 
before. 

"  Yes,  this  is  where  Mr.  Williams  hangs  out. 
— Say,  Field,  you'll  need  to  make  some  new  move 
to  hold  your  end  up  against  Williams." 

Mrs.  Field  felt  hurt  and  angry  at  his  rough 
joke.  In  the  dim  corner  a  cough  was  heard, 
and  a  yellow  head  raised  itself  over  the  bunk 
board  ghastily.  His  big  blue  eyes  fixed  them 
selves  on  the  lovely  woman  and  he  wore  a  look 
of  childish  wonder. 

"  Hello,  Gus — didn't  see  you.  What's  the 
matter — sick  ?  " 

"  Yah,  ai  baen  hwick  two  days.  Ai  tank  ai 
lack  to  hav  doketer." 

"All  right,  I'll  send  him  up.  What  seems 
the  matter  ?  " 

As  they  talked,  Mrs.  Field  again  chilled  with 
the  cold  gray  comfortlessness  of  it  all ;  to  be 
sick  in  such  a  place !  The  strange  appearance 
of  the  man  out  of  his  grim  corner  was  startling. 
She  was  glad  when  they  drove  out  into  the 
woods  again,  where'  the  clear  sunshine  fell,  and 
the  pines  stood  against  the  blazing  winter  sky 
motionless  as  iron  trees.  Her  pleasure  in  the 
ride  was  growing  less.  To  her  delicate  sense 
this  life  was  sordid,  not  picturesque.  She  won 
dered  how  Williams  endured  it.  They  arrived 
at  No.  8  just  as  the  men  were  trailing  down  the 


AN  ALIEN  IN   THE  PINES. 


road  to  work  after  eating  their  dinner.  Their 
gay-colored  jackets  of  Mackinac  wool  stood 
out  like  trumpet  notes  in  the  prevailing  white 
and  blue  and  bronze  green. 

The  boss  and  the  sealer  came  out  arid  met 
them,  and  after  introductions  they  went  into  the 
shanty  to  dinner.  The  cook  was  a  deft  young 
Norwegian  —  a  clean,  quick,  gentlemanly  young 
fellow  with  a  fine  brown  mustache.  He  cleared 
a  place  for  them  at  one  end  of  the  long  table, 
and  they  sat  down. 

It  was  a  large  camp,  but  much  like  the 
others.  On  the  table  were  the  same  cheap 
iron  forks,  the  tin  plates,  and  the  small  tin 
basins  (for  tea)  which  made  up  the  dinner  set. 
Basins  of  brown  sugar  stood  about. 

"  Good  gracious  !  Do  people  still  eat  brown 
sugar  ?  Why,  I  haven't  seen  any  of  that  for 
ages,"  cried  Mrs.  Field. 

The  stew  was  good  and  savory,  and  the 
bread  fair.  The  tea  was  not  all  clover,  but  it 
tasted  of  the  tin.  Mrs.  Field  said  : 

"Beef,  beef,  everywhere  beef.  One  might 
suppose  a  menagerie  of  desert  animals  ate  here. 
Edward,  we  must  make  things  more  comfortable 
for  our  men.  They  must  have  cups  to  drink  out 
of;  these  basins  are  horrible." 

It  was  humorous  to  the  men,  this  housewifely 
suggestion. 

"  Oh,  make  it  napkins,  Allie  !  " 

"  You  can  laugh,  but  I  sh'an't  rest  after  seeing 
this.  If  you  thought  I  was  going  to  say,  '  Oh, 


i  go 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


how  picturesque ! '  you're  mistaken.  I  think 
it's  barbarous." 

She  was  getting  impatient  of  their  patroniz 
ing  laughter,  as  if  she  were  a  child.  They 
changed  their  manner  to  one  of  acquiescence, 
but  thought  of  her  as  a  child  just  the  same. 

After  dinner  they  all  went  out  to  see  the 
crew  working.  It  was  the  biggest  crew  any 
where  in  the  neighborhood,  and  they  sat  a  long 
while  and  watched  the  men  at  work.  Ridgeley 
got  out  and  hitched  the  team  to  a  tree,  and  took 
Field  up  to  the  skidway.  Mrs.  Field  remained 
in  the  sleigh,  however. 

Near  her  "  the  swamping  team,"  a  span  of 
big  deep-red  oxen,  came  and  went  among  the 
green  tops  of  the  fallen  pines.  They  crawled 
along  their  trails  in  the  snow  like  some  strange 
machinery,  and  the  boy  in  a  blue  jacket  moved 
almost  as  listlessly.  Somewhere  in  the  tangle  of 
refuse  boughs  the  swampers'  axes  click-clocked, 
saws  uttered  their  grating,  rhythmic  snarl,  and 
great  trees  at  intervals  shivered,  groaned,  and 
fell  with  soft,  rushing,  cracking  sweeps  into  the 
deep  snow,  and  the  swampers  swarmed  upon 
them  like  Lilliputians  attacking  a  giant  enemy. 

There  was  something  splendid  (though  tragic) 
in  the  work,  but  the  thought  of  the  homelessness 
of  the  men,  their  terrible  beds,  and  their  long 
hours  of  toil  oppressed  the  delicate  and  refined 
woman.  She  began  to  take  on  culpability.  She 
was  partly  in  authority  now,  and  this  system 
must  be  changed.  She  was  deep  in  plans  for 


AN  ALIEN  IN   THE  PINES.  \g\ 

change,  in  shanties  and  in  sleeping  places,  when 
the  men  returned. 

Ridgeley  was  saying  :  "  No,  we  control  about 
thirty  thousand  acres  of  pine  as  good  as  that. 
It  ain't  what  it  was  twenty  years  ago,  but  it's 
worth  money,  after  all." 

It  was  getting  near  to  dark  as  they  reached 
No.  6  again,  and  Ridgeley  drew  up  and  helped 
them  out  and  into  the  cook's  shanty. 

Mrs.  Field  was  introduced  to  the  cook,  a 
short,  rather  sullen,  but  intelligent  man.  He 
stood  over  the  red-hot  stove,  laying  great  slices 
of  beef  in  a  huge  dripping-pan.  He  had  a  taffler 
or  assistant  in  the  person  of  a  half-grown  boy,  at 
whom  he  jerked  rough  orders  like  hunks  of 
stove  wood.  Some  hit  the  boy  and  produced 
noticeable  effects,  others  did  not. 

Meanwhile  a  triumphant  sunset  was  making 
the  west  one  splendor  of  purple  and  orange  and 
crimson,  which  came  over  the  cool  green  rim  of 
the  pines  like  the  Valhalla  March  in  Wagner. 

Mrs.  Field  sat  there  in  the  dim  room  by  the 
window,  seeing  that  splendor  flush  and  fade,  and 
thinking  how  dangerous  it  was  to  ask  where 
one's  wealth  comes  from  in  the  world.  Out 
side,  the  voices  of  the  men  thickened ;  they 
were  dropping  in  by  twos  and  fours,  with 
teams  and  on  foot. 

The  assistant  arranged  the  basins  in  rows, 
and  put  one  of  the  iron  forks  and  knives  on 
each  side  of  each  plate,  and  filled  the  sugar- 
basins  and  dumped  in  the  cold  beans,  and  split 


1 92  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

the  bread  into  slabs,  and  put  small  pots  of  tea 
here  and  there  ready  for  the  hands  of  the  men. 

At  last,  when  the  big  pans  of  toast,  the  big 
plates  of  beef,  were  placed  steaming  on  the 
table,  the  cook  called  Field  and  Ridgeley  and 
said : 

"Set  right  here  at  the  end."  He  raised  his 
arm  to  a  ring  which  dangled  on  a  wire.  *•  Now 
look  out ;  you'll  see  'em  come  sidewise."  He 
jerked  the  ring  and  disappeared  into  the 
kitchen. 

There  came  shouts,  trampling,  laughter,  and 
the  door  burst  open  and  they  streamed  in — Nor 
wegians,  French,  half-breeds,  dark-skinned  fel 
lows  all  of  them  save  the  Norwegians.  They 
came  like  a  flood,  but  they  fell  silent  at  sight 
of  a  woman,  so  beautiful  and  strange  to  them. 

All  words  ceased.  They  sank  into  place  be 
side  the  table  with  the  thump  of  falling  sand 
bags.  They  were  all  in  their  shirt  sleeves,  but 
they  were  cleanly  washed,  and  the  most  of  them 
had  combed  their  hair ;  but  they  seemed  very 
wild  and  hairy  to  Mrs.  Field.  She  looked  at  her 
husband  and  Ridgeley  with  a  grateful  pleas 
ure  ;  it  was  so  restful  to  have  them  on  each 
side  of  her. 

The  men  ate  like  hungry  dogs.  They  gorged 
in  silence.  Nothing  was  heard  but  the  clank  of 
knives  on  tin  plates,  the  drop  of  heavy  plates 
of  food,  and  the  occasional  muttered  words  of 
some  one  asking  for  the  bread  and  the  gravy. 

As  they  ate  they  furtively  looked  with  great 


AN  ALIEN  IN   THE  PINES.  193 

curiosity  and  admiration  up  at  the  dainty  wom 
an.  Their  eyes  were  bright  and  large,  and 
gleamed  out  of  the  obscure  brown  of  their 
dimly  lighted  faces  with  savage  intensity — so  it 
seemed  to  Mrs.  Field,  and  she  dropped  her  eyes 
upon  her  plate. 

Her  husband  and  Ridgeley  entered  into  con 
versation  with  those  sitting  near.  Ridgeley 
seemed  on  good  terms  with  them  all,  and  ven 
tured  a  joke  or  word,  at  which  they  laughed 
with  terrific  energy,  and  fell  as  suddenly  silent 
again. 

As  Mrs.  Field  looked  up  the  second  time  she 
saw  the  dark,  strange  face  of  Williams  a  few 
places  down,  and  opposite  her.  His  eyes  were 
fixed  on  her  husband's  hands  with  a  singular 
intensity.  Her  eyes  followed  his,  and  the  beauty 
of  her  husband's  hands  came  to  her  again  with 
new  force.  They  were  perfectly  shaped,  supple, 
warm-colored,  and  strong.  Their  color  and 
deftness  stood  out  in  vivid  contrast  to  the 
heavy,  brown,  cracked,  and  calloused  pawlike 
hands  of  the  men. 

Why  should  Williams  study  her  husband's 
hands?  If  he  had  looked  at  her  she  would  not 
have  been  surprised.  The  other  men  she  could 
read.  They  expressed  either  frank,  simple  ad 
miration  or  furtive  desire.  But  this  man  looked 
at  her  husband,  and  his  eyes  fell  often  upon  his 
own  hands,  which  trembled  with  fatigue.  He 
handled  his  knife  clumsily,  and  yet  she  could 
see  he,  too,  had  a  fine  hand — a  slender,  powerful 


194 


WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 


hand  like  that  people  call  an  artist  hand — a 
craftsmanlike  hand. 

He  saw  her  looking  at  him,  and  he  flashed 
one  enigmatical  glance  into  her  eyes,  and  rose 
to  go  out. 

"  How  you  getting  on,  Williams  ?  "  Ridgeley 
asked. 

Williams  resented  his  question.  "  Oh,  I'm  all 
right,"  he  said  sullenly. 

The  meal  was  all  over  in  an  incredibly  short 
time.  One  by  one,  two  by  two,  they  rose  heavily 
and  lumbered  out  with  one  last  wistful  look  at 
Mrs.  Field.  She  will  never  know  how  seraphic 
she  seemed  sitting  there  amid  those  rough  sur 
roundings — the  dim  red  light  of  the  kerosene 
lamp  falling  across  her  clear  pallor,  out  of  which 
her  dark  eyes  shone  with  liquid  softness,  made 
deeper  and  darker  by  her  half-sorrowful  tender 
ness  for  these  homeless  fellows. 

An  hour  later,  as  they  were  standing  at  the 
door,  just  ready  to  take  to  their  sleigh,  they 
heard  the  scraping  of  a  fiddle. 

"  Oh,  some  one  is  going  to  play  !  "  Mrs.  Field 
cried,  with  visions  of  the  rollicking  good  times 
she  had  heard  so  much  about  and  of  which 
she  had  seen  nothing  so  far.  "  Can't  I  look 
in?" 

Ridgeley  was  dubious.  "I'll  go  and  see,"  he 
said,  and  entered  the  door.  "  Boys,  Mrs.  Field 
wants  to  look  in  a  minute.  Go  on  with  your 
fiddling,  Sam — only  I  wanted  to  see  that  you 
weren't  sitting  around  in  dishabill." 


AN  ALIEN  IN   THE  PINES. 


195 


This  seemed  a  good  joke,  and  they  all  howled 
and  haw-hawed  gleefully. 

"  So  go  right  ahead  with  your  evening 
prayers.  All  but — you  understand  !  " 

"All  right,  captain-,"  said  Sam,  the  man  with 
the  fiddle. 

When  Mrs.  Field  looked  in,  two  men  were 
furiously  grinding  axes;  several  were  sewing  on 
ragged  garments  ;  all  were  smoking ;  some  were 
dressing  chapped  or  bruised  fingers.  The  at 
mosphere  was  horrible.  The  socks  and  shirts 
were  steaming  above  the  huge  stove  ;  the  smoke 
and  stench  for  a  moment  were  sickening,  but 
Ridgeley  pushed  them  just  inside  the  door. 

"  It's  better  out  of  the  draught." 

Sam  jigged  away  on  the  violin.  The  men 
kept  time  with  the  cranks  of  the  grindstone,  and 
all  hands  looked  up  with  their  best  smile  at  Mrs. 
Field.  Most  of  them  shrank  a  little  from  her 
look  like  shy  animals. 

Ridgeley  threw  open  the  window.  "  In  the 
old  days,"  he  explained  to  Mrs.  Field,  "we  used 
a  fireplace,  and  that  kept  the  air  better." 

As  her  sense  of  smell  became  deadened  the 
air  seemed  a  little  more  tolerable  to  Mrs.  Field. 

"  Oh,  we  must  change  all  this,"  she  said.  "  It 
is  horrible." 

"  Play  us  a  tune,"  said  Sam,  extending  the 
violin  to  Field.  He  did  not  think  Field  could 
play.  It  was  merely  a  shot  in  the  dark  on  his 
part. 

Field  took  it  and  looked  at  it  and  sounded 


1^6  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

it.  On  every  side  the  men  turned  face  in  eager 
expectancy. 

"  He  can  play,  that  feller." 

"  I'll  bet  he  can.  He  handles  her  as  if  he 
knew  her." 

"  You  bet  your  life. — Tune  up,  Cap." 

Williams  came  from  the  obscurity  somewhere, 
and  looked  over  the  shoulders  of  the  men. 

"  Down  in  front,"  somebody  called,  and  the 
men  took  seats  on  the  benches,  leaving  Field 
standing  with  the  violin  in  hand.  He  smiled 
around  upon  them  in  a  frank,  pleased  way,  quite 
ready  to  show  his  skill.  He  played  "  Annie 
Laurie,"  and  a  storm  of  applause  broke  out. 

"  j£fa?-ray  !     Bully  for  you  !  " 

"  Sam,  you're  out  of  it." 

"  Sam,  your  name  is  Mud." 

"  Give  us  another,  Cap." 

"  It  ain't  the  same  fiddle." 

He  played  again  some  simple  tune,  and  he 
played  it  with  the  touch  which  showed  the  skilled 
amateur.  As  he  played,  Mrs.  Field  noticed  a 
grave  restlessness  on  Williams's  part.  He  moved 
about  uneasily.  He  gnawed  at  his  finger  nails. 
His  eyes  glowed  with  a  singular  fire.  His  hands 
drummed  and  fingered.  At  last  he  approached 
and  said  roughly : 

"  Let  me  take  that  fiddle  a  minute." 

"  Oh,  cheese  it,  Williams!"  the  men  cried. 
"  Let  the  other  man  play." 

"  What  do  you,  want  to  do  with  the  fiddle — • 
think  it's  a  music  box  ?  "  asked  Sam,  its  owner. 


AN  ALIEN  IN   THE   PINES.  197 

"  Go  to  hell !  "  said  Williams.  As  Field  gave 
the  violin  over  to  him  his  hands  seemed  to 
tremble  with  eagerness. 

He  raised  his  bow  and  struck  into  an  impos 
ing  brilliant  strain,  and  the  men  fell  back  in 
astonishment. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  damned  !  "  gasped  the  owner  of 
the  violin. 

*'  Keep  quiet,  Sam." 

Mrs.  Field  looked  at  her  husband.  "Why, 
Ed,  he  is  playing  Sarasate  !  " 

"  That's  what  he  is,"  he  returned  slangily, 
too  much  astonished  to  do  more  than  gaze. 
Williams  played  on. 

There  was  a  faint  defect  in  the  high  notes,  as 
if  his  ringers  did  not  touch  the  strings  properly, 
but  his  bow  action  showed  cultivation  and 
breadth  of  feeling.  As  he  struck  into  one  of 
those  difficult  octave-leaping  movements  his 
face  became  savage.  On  the  E  string  a  squeal 
broke  forth  ;  he  flung  the  violin  into  Sam's  lap 
with  a  ferocious  curse,  and  then  extending  his 
hands,  hard,  crooked  to  fit  the  axe-helve,  cal 
loused  and  chapped,  he  said  to  Field  : 

"  Look  at  my  cursed  hands.  Lovely  things 
to  play  with,  ain't  they?" 

His  voice  trembled  with  passion.  He  turned 
and  went  outside.  As  he  passed  Mrs.  Field  his 
head  was  bowed  and  he  was  uttering  a  groaning 
cry  like  one  suffering  acute  physical  agony. 

She  went  out  quickly,  and  Field  and  Ridgeley 
followed.  They  were  all  moved — but  the  men 


I98  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

made  little  of  it,  seeing  how  deeply  touched  she 
was. 

"  That's  what  drink  does  for  a  man,"  Ridge- 
ley  said,  as  they  watched  Williams  disappear 
down  the  swampers'  trail. 

"  That  man  has  been  a  violinist,"  said  Field. 
"  What's  he  doing  up  here  ?  " 

"  Came  up  to  get  away  from  himself,"  Ridge- 
ley  replied. 

"  I'm  afraid  he's  failed,"  said  Field,  as  he  put 
his  arm  about  his  wife  and  led  her  to  the  sleigh. 

The  ride  home  was  made  mainly  in  silence. 
"  Oh,  the  splendid  silence !  "  the  woman  kept 
saying  in  her  heart.  "  Oh,  the  splendid  moon 
light,  the  marvelous  radiance!"  Everywhere 
a  heavenly  serenity — not  a  footstep,  not  a  bell, 
not  a  cry,  not  a  cracking  tree — nothing  but  vivid 
light,  white  snow  dappled  and  lined  with  shadows, 
and  trees  etched  against  a  starlit  sky.  Splendor 
of  light  and  sheen  and  shadow.  Wide  wastes  of 
snow  so  white  the  stumps  stood  like  columns  of 
charcoal.  A  night  of  Nature's  making  when  she 
is  tired  of  noise  and  blare  of  color. 

And  in  the  midst  of  it  stood  the  camps  and 
the  reek  of  obscenity,  foul  odors,  and  tobacco 
smoke,  to  which  a  tortured  soul  must  return. 


AN  ALIEN  IN    THE  PINES. 


IV. 

THE  following  Saturday  afternoon,  as  Ridge- 
ley  and  Field  entered  the  office,  Williams  rose  to 
meet  them.  He  looked  different  ;  finer  some 
way,  Field  imagined.  At  any  rate,  he  was 
perfectly  sober.  He  was  freshly  shaven,  and 
though  his  clothes  were  rough,  he  looked  like  a 
man  of  education.  His  manner  was  cold  and 
distant. 

"  I'd  like  to  be  paid  off,  Mr.  Ridgeley,"  he 
said.  "  I  guess  what's  left  of  my  pay  will  take 
me  out  of  this." 

"  Where  do  you  propose  to  go  ?  "  Ridgeley 
said  kindly. 

Williams  must  have  perceived  his  kindliness, 
for  he  answered  :  "  I'm  going  home  to  my  wife. 
I  am  going  to  try  it  once  more." 

After  Williams  went  out  Field  said,  "  I  won 
der  if  he'll  do  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  I've  seen  men 
brace  up  just  as  mysteriously  as  that  and  stay 
right  by  their  resolutions.  I  thought  he  didn't 
look  like  a  common  lumber  Jack  when  he 
came  in." 

"Oh,  how  happy  his  wife  will  be!"  Mrs. 
Field  cried  when  she  heard  of  Williams's  reso 
lution.  "She'll  save  him  yet." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  ;  depends  on  what  kind 
of  a  woman  she  is." 


THE  OWNER  OF  THE  MILL  FARM. 

BEYOND  his  necessity,  a  tired  man  is  not  apt 
to  be  polite.  This  Mrs.  Miner  had  generalized 
from  long  experience  with  her  husband.  She 
knew  at  a  distance,  by  the  way  he  wore  his  hat 
when  he  came  in  out  of  the  field,  whether  he  was 
in  a  peculiarly  savage  mood,  or  only  in  his  usual 
state  of  sullen  indifference. 

As  he  came  in  out  of  the  barn  on  this  spring 
day,  he  turned  to  look  up  at  the  roof  with  a 
curse.  Something  had  angered  him.  He  did 
not  stop  to  comb  his  hair  after  washing  at  the 
pump,  but  came  into  the  neat  kitchen  and  sur 
lily  took  a  seat  at  the  table. 

Mrs.  Miner,  a  slender  little  woman,  quite 
ladylike  in  appearance,  had  the  dinner  all  placed 
in  steaming  abundance  upon  the  table,  and  the 
children,  sitting  side  by  side,  watched  their 
father  in  silence.  There  was  an  air  of  forebod 
ing,  of  apprehension,  over  them  all,  as  if  they 
feared  some  brutal  outbreak  on  his  part. 

He  placed  his  elbows  on  the  table.  His 
sleeves  were  rolled  up,  displaying  his  red  and 
much  sunburned  arms.  He  wore  no  coat,  and 
14  201 


202  WA  YSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

his  face  was  sullen,  and  held,  besides,  a  certain 
vicious  quality,  like  that  of  a  bad-tempered  dog. 

He  had  not  spoken  to  his  wife  directly  for 
many  weeks.  For  years  it  had  been  his  almost 
constant  habit  to  address  her  through  the  chil 
dren,  by  calling  her  "  she  "  or  "  your  mother." 
He  had  done  this  so  long  that  even  the  little 
ones  were  startled  when  he  said,  looking  straight 
at  her: 

"  Say,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  that 
roof  ? " 

Mrs.  Miner  turned  her  large  gray  eyes  upon 
him  in  sudden  confusion.  "  Excuse  me,  Tom,  I 
didn't " 

"  I  said  *  What  you  goin'  t'  do  with  that 
roof  ? '  "  he  repeated  brutally. 

"  What  roof  ?  "  she  asked  timidly. 

"  What  roof  ?  "  he  repeated  after  her.  "  Why, 
the  barn,  of  course  !  It's  leakin'  and  rottin'  my 
oats.  It's  none  o'  my  business,"  he  went  on,  his 
voice  containing  an  undercurrent  of  vicious  in 
sult.  "  Only  I  thought  you'd  like  to  know  it's 
worse  than  ever.  You  can  do  as  you  like  about 
it,"  he  said  again,  and  there  was  a  peculiar  tone 
in  his  voice,  as  if,  by  using  that  tone,  he  touched 
her  upon  naked  nerves  somewhere.  "  I  guess  I 
can  cover  the  oats  up." 

A  stranger  would  not  have  known  what  it  all 
meant,  and  yet  there  was  something  in  what  he 
said  that  made  his  wife  turn  white.  But  she  an 
swered  quietly  : 

"  I'll  send  word  to  the  carpenter  this  fore- 


THE   OWNER    OF   THE  MILL  FARM. 


203 


noon.  I'm  sorry,"  she  went  on,  the  tears  com 
ing  to  her  eyes.  She  turned  away  and  looked 
out  of  the  window,  while  he  ate  on  indifferently. 
At  last  she  turned  with  a  sudden  impulse  :  "  O 
Tom,  why  can't  we  be  friends  again  ?  For  the 
children's  sake,  you  ought  to " 

"  Oh,  shut  up  !  "  he  snarled.  "  Good  God  ! 
Can't  you  let  a  thing  rest  ?  Suits  me  well 
enough.  I  ain't  complainin'.  So,  just  shut  up." 

He  rose  with  a  slam  and  went  out.  The  two 
children  sat  with  hushed  breath.  They  knew 
him  too  well  to  cry  out. 

Mrs  Miner  sat  for  a  long  time  at  the  table 
without  moving.  At  last  she  rose  and  went 
sighfully  at  work.  "  Morty,  I  want  you  to  run 
down  to  Mr.  Wilber's  and  ask  him  to  come  up 
and  see  me  about  some  work."  She  stood  at 
the  window  and  watched  the  boy  as  he  stepped 
lightly  down  the  road.  "  How  much  he  looks 
like  his  father,  in  spite  of  his  sunny  temper!  "  she 
thought,  and  it  was  not  altogether  a  pleasant 
thing  to  think  of,  though  she  did  not  allow  such 
a  thought  to  take  definite  shape. 

The  young  carpenter  whom  Wilber  sent  to 
fill  Mrs.  Miner's  order  walked  with  the  gay  feet 
of  youth  as  he  passed  out  of  the  little  town  to 
ward  the  river.  When  he  came  to  the  bridge,  he 
paused  and  studied  the  scene  with  slow,  de 
lighted  eyes.  The  water  came  down  over  its 
dam  with  a  leap  of  buoyant  joy,  as  if  leaping 
to  freedom.  Over  the  dam  it  lay  in  a  quiet  pool, 
mirroring  every  bud  and  twig.  Below,  it  curved 


2O4 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


away  between  low  banks,  with  bushes  growing 
to  the  water's  edge,  where  the  pickerel  lay. 

But  the  young  man  seemed  to  be  saddened 
by  the  view  of  the  mill,  which  had  burned 
some  years  before.  It  seemed  like  the  charred 
body  of  a  living  thing,  this  heap  of  blackened 
and  twisted  shafts  and  pulleys,  lying  half  buried 
in  tangles  of  weeds. 

It  appealed  so  strongly  to  young  Morris  that 
he  uttered  an  unconscious  sigh  as  he  walked  on 
across  the  bridge  and  clambered  the  shelving 
road,  which  was  cut  out  of  the  yellow  sand 
stone  of  the  hillside. 

The  road  wound  up  the  sandy  hillside  and 
came  at  length  to  a  beautiful  broad  terrace  of 
farm  land  that  stretched  back  to  the  higher 
bluffs.  The  house  toward  which  the  young 
fellow  turned  was  painted  white,  and  had  the 
dark-green  blinds  which  transplanted  New-Eng- 
landers  carry  with  them  wherever  they  go. 

Soldierly  Lombardy  poplar  trees  stood  in  the 
yard,  and  beds  of  flowers  lined  the  walk.  Mrs. 
Miner  was  at  work  in  the  beds  when  he  came  up. 

"  Good  day,"  he  said  cordially.  "  Glorious 
spring  weather,  isn't  it  ? "  He  smiled  pleasantly. 
«*  Is  this  Mrs.  Miner  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir."     She  looked  at  him  wonderingly. 

"  I'm  one  of  Wilber's  men,"  he  explained. 
"  He  couldn't  get  away,  so  he  sent  me  up  to 
see  what  needed  doing." 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  relieved  tone.  "  Very 
well ;  will  you  go  look  at  it  ?  " 


THE   OWNER   OF   THE  MILL  FARM. 

They  walked,  side  by  side,  out  toward  the 
barn,  which  had  the  look  of  great  age  in  its 
unpainted  decay.  It  was  gray  as  granite  and 
worn  fuzzy  with  sleet  and  snow.  The  young 
fellow  looked  around  at  the  grass,  the  dande 
lions,  the  vague  and  beautiful  shadows  flung 
down  upon  the  turf  by  the  scant  foliage  of  the 
willows  and  apple  trees,  and  took  off  his  hat, 
as  if  in  the  presence  of  something  holy.  "  What 
a  lovely  place  !  "  he  said — "  all  but  the  mill  down 
there ;  it  seems  too  bad  it  burnt  up.  I  hate  to 
see  a  ruin,  most  of  all,  one  of  a  mill."  She 
looked  at  him  in  surprise,  perceiving  that  he  was 
not  at  all  an  ordinary  carpenter.  He  had  a 
thoughtful  face,  and  the  workman's  dress  he 
wore  could  not  entirely  conceal  a  certain  deli 
cacy  of  limb.  His  voice  had  a  touch  of  culti 
vation  in  it. 

"  The  work  I  want  done  is  on  the  barn," 
she  said  at  length.  "  Do  you  think  it  needs 
reshingling  ?  " 

He  looked  up  at  it  critically,  his  head  still  bare. 
She  was  studying  him  carefully  now,  and  ad 
mired  his  handsome  profile.  There  was  some 
thing  fine  and  powerful  in  the  poise  of  his  head. 

"  You  haven't  been  working  for  Mr.  Wilber 
long,"  she  said. 

He  turned  toward  her  with  a  smile  of  grati 
fication,  as  if  he  knew  she  had  detected  some 
thing  out  of  the  ordinary  in  him. 

"  No,  I'm  just  out  of  Beloit,"  he  said,  with 
ready  confidence.  "  You  see  that  I'm  one  of 


2o6  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

these  fellows  who  have  to  work  my  passage. 
I  put  in  my  vacations  at  my  trade."  He  looked 
up  at  the  roof  again,  as  if  checking  himself. 
"  Yes,  I  should  think  from  here  that  it  would 
have  to  be  reshingled." 

She  sighed  resignedly,  and  he  knew  she  was 
poor.  "Well,  I  suppose  you  had  better  do  it." 

She  thought  of  him  pleasantly,  as  he  walked 
off  down  the  road  after  the  lumber  and  tools 
that  were  necessary.  And,  in  his  turn,  he  won 
dered  whether  she  were  a  widow  or  not.  It 
promised  to  be  a  pleasant  job.  She  was  quite 
handsome,  in  a  serious  way,  he  decided — very 
womanly  and  dignified.  Perhaps  this  was  his 
romance,  he  thought,  with  the  ready  imagina 
tion  upon  this  point  of  a  youth  of  twenty- 
one. 

He  returned  soon  with  a  German  teamster, 
who  helped  him  unload  his  lumber  and  erect  his 
stagings.  When  noon  came  he  was  working 
away  on  the  roof,  tearing  the  old  shingles  off 
with  a  spade. 

He  was  a  little  uncertain  about  his  dinner. 
It  was  the  custom  to  board  carpenters  when 
they  were  working  on  a  farm,  but  this  farm 
was  so  near  town,  possibly  Mrs.  Miner  would 
not  think  it  necessary.  He  decided,  however,  to 
wait  till  one  o'clock,  to  be  sure.  At  half  past 
twelve,  a  man  came  in  out  of  the  field  with  a 
team — a  short  man,  with  curly  hair,  curly  chin 
beard,  and  mustache.  He  walked  with  a  little 
swagger,  and  his  legs  were  slightly  bowed. 


THE   OWNER   OF   THE  MILL   FARM. 


207 


Morris  called  him  "  a  little  feller,"  and  cata 
logued  him  by  the  slant  on  his  hat. 

"  Say,"  called  Morris  suddenly,  "won't  you 
come  up  here  and  help  me  raise  my  staging  ?  " 

The  man  looked  up  with  a  muttered  curse  of 
surprise.  "  Who  the  hell  y'  take  me  for  ?  Hired 
man  ? "  he  asked,  and  then,  after  a  moment, 
continued,  in  a  tone  which  was  an  insult :  "You 
don't  want  to  rip  off  the  whole  broad  side  of 
that  roof.  Ain't  y'  got  any  sense  ?  Come  a 
rain,  it'll  raise  hell  with  my  hay." 

"  It  ain't  going  to  rain,"  Morris  replied.  He 
wanted  to  give  him  a  sharp  reply,  but  concluded 
not  to  do  so.  This  was  evidently  the  husband. 
His  romance  was  very  short. 

"Tom,  won't  you  call  the  man  in?"  asked 
Mrs.  Miner,  as  her  husband  came  up  to  the 
kitchen  door. 

"  No,  call  'im  yourself.     You've  got  a  gullet." 

Mrs.  Miner's  face  clouded  a  little,  but  she 
composed  herself.  "  Morty,  run  out  and  tell  the 
carpenter  to  come  to  dinner." 

"  Boss  is  in  a  temper,"  Morris  thought,  as  he 
listened  to  Miner's  reply.  He  came  up  to  the 
well,  where  Morty  brought  him  a  clean  towel, 
and  waited  to  show  him  into  the  kitchen. 

Miner  was  just  sitting  down  to  the  table  when 
Morris  entered.  His  sleeves  were  rolled  up. 
He  had  his  old  white  hat  on  his  head.  He 
lounged  upon  one  elbow  on  the  table.  His 
whole  bearing  was  swinish. 

"  What  do  I  care  ? "  he  growled,  as  if  in  reply 


208  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

to  some  low-voiced  warning  his  wife  had  uttered. 
"  If  he  don't  like  it,  he  can  lump  it,  and  if  you 
don't  like  my  ways,"  he  said,  turning  upon  her, 
"  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  say  so,  and  I  git 
out." 

Morris  was  amazed  at  all  this.  He  could 
not  persuade  himself  that  he  had  rightly  under 
stood  what  had  been  said.  There  was  some 
thing  beneath  the  man's  words  which  puzzled 
him  and  forbade  his  inquiry.  He  sat  down  near 
the  oldest  child  and  opposite  Mrs.  Miner.  Miner 
began  to  eat,  and  Morris  was  speaking  pleasant 
ly  to  the  child  nearest  him,  when  he  heard  an 
oath  and  a  slap.  He  looked  up  to  see  Miner's 
hat  falling  from  Mrs.  Miner's  cheek. 

She  had  begun  a  silent  grace,  and  her  hus 
band  had  thrown  his  hat  in  her  face.  She  kept 
her  eyes  upon  her  plate,  and  her  lips  moved  as 
if  in  prayer,  though  a  flush  of  red  streamed  up 
her  neck  and  covered  her  cheek. 

Morris  leaped  up,  his  eyes  burning  into 
Miners  face.  "H'yere!"  he  shouted,  "what's 
all  this  ?  Did  you  strike  her  ?  " 

"  Set  down  !  "  roared  Miner.  "  You're  too 
fresh." 

"  I'll  let  you  know  how  fresh  I  am,"  said  the 
young  fellow,  shaking  his  brawny  fist  in  Miner's 
face. 

Mrs.  Miner  rose,  with  a  ghastly  smile  on  her 
face,  which  was  now  as  pale  as  it  had  been 
flushed.  "  Please  don't  mind  him  ;  he's  only 
fooling."  Morris  looked  at  her  and  understood 


THE   OWNER   OF   THE  MILL   FARM.    209 

a  little  of  her  feeling  as  a  wife  and  mother.  He 
sat  down.  "Well,  I'll  let  him  know  the  weight 
of  my  fist,  if  he  does  anything  more  of  that 
business  when  I'm  around,"  he  said,  looking  at 
her,  and  then  at  her  husband.  "  I  didn't  grow 
up  in  a  family  where  things  like  that  go  on.  If 
you'll  just  say  the  word,  I — I'll " 

"  Please  don't  do  anything,"  she  said,  and  he 
saw  that  he  had  better  not,  if  he  wished  to 
shield  her  from  further  suffering.  The  meal 
proceeded  in  silence.  Miner  apparently  gloried 
in  what  he  had  done. 

The  children  were  trembling  with  fear  and 
could  scarcely  go  on  with  their  dinners.  They 
dared  not  cry.  Their  eyes  were  fixed  upon  their 
father's  face,  like  the  eyes  of  kittens  accustomed 
to  violence.  The  wife  tried  to  conceal  her  shame 
and  indignation.  She  thought  she  succeeded 
very  well,  but  the  big  tears  rolling  down  from 
her  wide  unseeing  eyes,  were  pitiful  to  witness. 

Morris  ate  his  dinner  in  silence,  not  seeing 
anything  further  to  do  or  say.  His  food  choked 
him,  and  he  found  it  necessary  to  drink  great 
draughts  of  water. 

At  last  she  contrived  to  say,  "  How  did  you 
find  the  roof  ?  "  It  was  a  pitiful  attempt  to 
cover  the  dreadful  silence. 

"  It  was  almost  as  good  as  no  roof  at  all,"  he 
replied,  with  the  desire  to  aid  her.  "  Those 
shingles,  I  suppose,  have  been  on  there  for 
thirty  years.  I  suppose  those  shingles  must 
have  been  rived  out  by  just  such  a  machine 


2io  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

as  Old  Man  Means  used,  in  the  '  Hoosier  School 
master.'  '  From  this,  he  went  on  to  tell  about 
some  of  the  comical  parts  of  the  story,  and  so 
managed  to  end  the  meal  in  a  fairly  presentable 
way. 

"  She's  found  another  sympathizer,"  sneered 
the  husband,  returning  to  his  habit  of  addressing 
his  wife  in  the  third  person. 

After  eating  his  dinner,  Miner  lit  his  pipe 
and  swaggered  out,  as  if  he  had  done  an  ad 
mirable  thing.  Morris  remained  at  the  table, 
talking  with  the  children.  After  Miner  had 
passed  out  of  earshot,  he  looked  up  at  Mrs. 
Miner,  as  if  expecting  her  to  say  something  in 
explanation  of  what  had  occurred.  But  she  had 
again  forgotten  him,  and  sat  biting  her  lips  and 
looking  out  of  the  window.  Her  bosom  heaved 
like  that  of  one  about  to  weep.  Her  wide-open 
eyes  had  unutterable  sorrow  in  their  beautiful 
depths. 

Morris  got  up  and  went  out,  in  order  to  pre 
vent  himself  from  weeping  too.  He  hammered 
away  on  the  roof  like  mad  for  an  hour,  and 
wished  that  every  blow  fell  on  that  little  vil 
lain's  curly  pate. 

He  did  not  see  Mrs.  Miner  to  speak  to  her 
again  till  the  next  forenoon,  when  she  came  out  to 
see  how  the  work  was  getting  on.  He  came  down 
from  the  roof  to  meet  her,  and  they  stood  side 
by  side,  talking  the  job  over  and  planning  other 
work.  She  spoke,  at  last,  in  a  low,  hesitating 
voice,  and  without  looking  at  him  : 


THE    OWNER    OF    THE   MILL   FARM.    211 

"  You  mustn't  mind  what  Mr.  Miner  does. 
He's  very  peculiar,  and  you're  likely — that  is,  I 
mean " 

She  could  not  finish  her  lie.  The  young  man 
looked  down  on  her  resolutely.  "  I'd  like  to 
lick  him,  and  I'd  do  it  for  a  leather  cent." 

She  put  out  her  hand  with  a  gesture  of  dis 
may.  "  Oh,  don't  make  trouble;  please  don't!  " 

"  I  won't  if  you  don't  want  me  to,  but  that 
man  needs  a  licking  the  worst  of  any  one  I  ever 
saw.  Mrs.  Miner,"  he  said,  after  a  little  pause, 
"  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  why  he  acts  that  way. 
Now,  there  must  be  some  reason  for  it.  No  sane 
man  is  going  to  do  a  thing  like  that." 

She  looked  away,  a  hot  flush  rising  upon  her 
face.  She  felt  a  distinct  longing  for  sympathy. 
There  was  something  very  engaging  in  this 
young  man's  candid  manner. 

"  I  do  not  know  who  is  to  blame,"  she  said 
at  last,  as  if  in  answer  to  a  question.  "  I've 
tried  to  be  a  good  wife  to  him  for  the  children's 
sake.  I've  tried  to  be  patient.  I  suppose  if  I'd 
made  the  property  all  over  to  him,  as  most  wives 
do,  at  first,  it  would  have  avoided  all  trouble." 
She  paused  to  think  a  moment. 

"  But,  you  see,"  she  went  on  suddenly,  "  fa 
ther  never  liked  him  at  all,  and  he  made  me 
promise  never  to  let  the  mill  or  the  farm  go  out 
.of  my  hands,  and  then  I  didn't  think  it  necessary. 
It  belonged  to  us  both,  just  as  much  as  if  I'd 
signed  it  over.  I  considered  he  was  my  partner 
as  well  as  my  husband.  I  knew  how  father  felt, 


212  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

especially  about  the  mill,  and  I  couldn't  go 
against  his  wish." 

She  had  the  impulse  to  tell  it  all  now,  and 
she  sat  down  on  a  bunch  of  shingles,  as  if  to  be 
able  to  state  it  better.  Her  eyes  were  turned 
away,  her  hands  pressed  upon  each  other  like 
timid,  living  things  seeking  aid,  and,  looking  at 
her  trembling  lips,  the  young  man  felt  a  lump 
rise  in  his  throat. 

"  It  began  all  at  once,  you  see.  I  mean  the 
worst  of  it  did.  Of  course,  we'd  had  sharp 
words,  as  all  people  who  live  together  are  apt  to 
have,  I  suppose,  but  they  didn't  last  long.  You 
see,  everything  was  mine,  and  he  had  nothing  at 
all  when  he  came  home  with  me.  He'd  had 
bad  luck,  and  he — he  never  was  a  good  busi 
ness  man." 

The  tears  were  on  her  face  again.  She  was 
retrospectively  approaching  that  miserable  time 
when  her  suffering  began.  The  droop  of  her 
head  appealed  to  the  young  man  with  immense 
power.  He  had  an  impulse  to  take  her  in 
his  arms  and  comfort  her,  as  if  she  were  his 
sister. 

She  mastered  herself  at  last,  and  went  on  in 
low,  hesitating  voice,  more  touching  than  down 
right  sobbing :  "  One  day,  the  same  summer  the 
mill  burned,  one  of  the  horses  kicked  at  little 
Morty,  and  I  said  I'd  sell  it,  and  he  said  it  was 
all  nonsense  ;  the  horse  wasn't  to  blame.  And 
I  told  him  I  wouldn't  have  a  horse  around  that 
would  kick.  And  when  he  said  I  shouldn't  sell 


THE   OWNER   OF   THE  MILL   FARM. 


it,  I  said  a  dreadful  thing.  I  knew  it  would  cut 
him,  but  I  said  it.  I  said  :  *  The  horse  is  mine  ; 
the  farm  is  mine  ;  I  can  do  what  I  please  with 
my  own,  for  all  of  you.'  ' 

She  fell  silent  here,  and  Morris  was  forced  to 
ask,  "  What  did  he  do  then  ?  " 

"  He  looked  at  me,  a  queer,  long  look  that 
made  me  shiver,  and  then  he  walked  off,  and  he 
never  spoke  to  me  again  directly  for  six  months. 
And  from  that  day  he  almost  never  speaks  to 
me  except  through  the  children.  He  calls  me 
names  through  them.  He  cuts  me  every  time 
he  can.  He  does  everything  he  can  to  hurt  me. 
He  never  dresses  up,  and  he  wears  his  hat  in 
the  house  at  all  times,  and  rolls  up  his  sleeves  at 
the  table,  just  because  he  knows  it  makes  me 
suffer.  Sometimes  I  think  he  is  crazy,  and 
yet  -  " 

"  Oh,  no,  he  ain't  crazy.  He's  devilish," 
Morris  blurted  out.  "  Great  guns  !  I'd  like  to 
lay  my  hands  on  him." 

She  seemed  to  feel  that  a  complete  statement 
was  demanded.  "  I  can't  invite  anybody  to  the 
house,  for  there's  no  knowing  what  he'll  do.  He 
may  stay  in  the  fields  all  day  and  never  come  in 
at  all,  or  he  may  come  in  and  curse  and  swear  at 
me  or  do  something  —  I  never  can  tell  what  he  is 
goin'  to  do." 

"Haven't  you  any  relatives  here?"  Morris 
asked. 

"  Yes,  but  I'm  ashamed  to  let  them  know 
about  it,  because  they  all  said  I'd  repent  ;  and 


214 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


then  he's  my  husband,  and  he's  the  father  of  my 
children." 

"A  mighty  poor  excuse  of  one  I  call  him," 
said  the  young  man  with  decision. 

"  I  tried  to  give  him  the  farm,  when  I  found 
it  was  going  to  make  trouble,  but  he  wouldn't 
take  it  then.  He  won't  listen  to  me  at  all.  He 
keeps  throwing  it  up  to  me  that  he's  earning  his 
living,  and  if  I  don't  think  he  is  he  will  go  any 
minute.  He  works  in  the  field,  but  that's  all. 
He  won't  advise  with  me  at  all.  He  says  it's 
none  of  his  business.  He  won't  do  a  thing 
around  the  house  or  garden.  I  tried  to  get 
him  to  oversee  the  mill  for  me,  but,  after  our 
trouble,  he  refused  to  do  anything  about  it.  I 
hired  a  man  to  run  it,  but  it  didn't  pay  that  way, 
and  then  it  was  idle  for  a  while,  and  at  last  it 
got  afire  some  way  and  burned  up — tramps,  I 
suppose. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  she  sighed,  rising,  "  I  don't  see 
how  it's  going  to  end  ;  it.  must  end  some  time. 
Sometimes  it  seems  as  if  I  couldn't  stand  it  an 
other  day,  and  then  I  think  of  my  duty  as  a 
mother  and  wife,  and  I  think  perhaps  God  in 
tended  this  to  be  my  cross." 

The  young  fellow  was  silent.  It  was  a  great 
problem.  The  question  of  divorce  had  never 
before  been  borne  in  upon  him  in  this  personal 
way.  It  seemed  to  him  a  clear  case.  The  man 
ought  to  be  driven  off  and  the  woman  left  in 
peace.  He  thought  of  the  pleasure  it  would 
give  her  to  hear  the  sound  of  the  mill  again. 


THE   OWNER   OF   THE  MILL   FARM.    21$ 

They  stood  there  side  by  side,  nearly  the 
same  age,  and  yet  the  woman's  face  was  already 
lined  with  suffering,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of 
shadow.  There  seemed  no  future  for  her,  and 
yet  she  was  young. 

"  Please  don't  let  him  know  I've  said  any 
thing  to  you,  will  you  ?  " 

"  I'll  try  not  to,"  he  said,  but  he  did  not 
consider  himself  bound  to  any  definite  con 
cealment. 

They  ate  dinner  together  without  Miner,  who 
had  a  fit  of  work  on  hand  which  made  him  stub 
bornly  unmindful  of  any  call  to  eat.  Moreover, 
he  was  sure  it  would  worry  his  wife. 

The  meal  was  a  pleasant  one  on  the  whole, 
and  they  found  many  things  in  common  to  talk 
about.  Morris  wanted  to  ask  her  a  few  more 
questions  about  her  life,  but  she  begged  him 
not  to  do  so,  and  started  him  off  on  the  story 
of  his  college  life.  He  was  an  enthusiastic 
talker  and  told  her  his  plans  with  boyish  frank 
ness.  He  forgot  his  fatigue,  and  she  lost  for  a 
time  her  premature  cares  and  despairs.  They 
were  laughing  together  over  some  of  his  college 
pranks  when  Miner  came  in  at  the  door. 

"  Oh,  I  see  !  "  he  said,  with  an  insulting,  in 
sinuating  inflection;  "  Now  I  understand  the 
early  dinner." 

Morris  sprang  up  and,  walking  over  to  the 
sneering  husband,  glared  down  at  him  with  a 
look  of  ferocity  that  sat  singularly  upon  his 
round,  fresh  face.  "  Now  you  shut  up  !  If  you 


2l6  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

open  your  mouth  to  me  again  I'll  lick  you  till 
your  hide  won't  hold  pumpkins  !  " 

Miner  shrank  back,  turned  on  his  heel,  and 
went  off  to  the  barn.  He  did  not  return  for  his 
dinner. 

Morris  insisted  on  helping  Mrs.  Miner  clear 
up  the  yard  and  uncover  the  grapevine.  He 
liked  her  very  much.  She  appealed  to  the  pro 
tector  in  him,  and  she  interested  him  besides, 
because  of  the  melancholy  which  was  lined  on 
her  delicate  face,  and  voiced  in  her  low,  soft 
utterances. 

He  appealed  to  her,  because  of  his  delicacy 
as  well  as  strength.  He  had  something  of  the 
modern  man's  love^for  flowers,  and  did  not  at 
tempt  to  conceal  his  delight  in  thus  tinkering 
about  at  woman's  work.  He  ate  supper  with  her 
and  worked  on  until  it  was  quite  dark,  tired  as 
he  was,  and  then  shook  hands  and  said  "  Good 
night." 

Morris  came  back  to  his  work  the  next  day 
with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  He  had  spent 
considerable  thought  upon  the  matter.  He  had 
almost  determined  on  a  course  of  action.  He 
had  thought  of  going  directly  to  Miner  and  say 
ing  : 

"  Now  look  here,  Miner,  if  you  was  half  a 
man,  you'd  pull  out  and  leave  this  woman  in 
peace.  How  you  can  stand  around  here  and 
occupy  the  position  you  do,  I  don't  see." 

But  when  he  remembered  Mrs.  Miner's  words 
about  the  children,  another  consideration  came 


THE   OWNER   OF   THE  MILL  FARM. 


in.  Suppose  he  should  take  the  children  with 
him — that  was  the  point ;  that  was  the  uncertain 
part  of  the  problem.  It  did  not  require  any 
thought  to  remember  that  the  law  took  very 
little  consideration  of  the  woman's  feelings.  He 
said  to  himself  that  if  he  ever  became  judge,  he 
would  certainly  give  decisions  that  would  send 
such  a  man  as  Miner  simply  whirling  out  into 
space. 

Miner  was  in  the  barn  when  Morris  clambered 
up  the  ladder  with  a  bunch  of  shingles  on  his 
shoulder,  about  seven  o'clock.  He  came  out 
and  said  : 

"  Say,  you  want  to  fix  that  window  up 
there." 

"  Get  away  from  there  !  "  shouted  Morris,  in 
uncontrollable  rage,  "  or  I'll  smash  this  bunch 
of  shingles  on  your  cursed  head.  Don't  you 
open  that  ugly  p'tater  trap  at  me,  you  bow- 
legged  little  skunk!  I'm  goin'  to  lick  you  like 
a  sock  before  I'm  done  with  you." 

He  would  have  done  so  then  had  he  been  on 
the  ground,  but  he  disdained  taking  the  trouble 
to  climb  down.  He  planned  to  catch  him  when 
he  came  up  to  dinner.  The  more  he  thought  of 
it  the  more  his  indignation  waxed.  As  he  grew 
to  hate  the  man  more,  he  began  to  entertain  the 
suspicions,  which  Wilber  confessed  to  in  confi 
dence,  concerning  the  burning  of  the  mill. 

They  had  a  cheerful  meal  together  again,  for 
Miner  did  not  come  in  until  one  o'clock.  Dur 
ing  the  nooning  Morris  finished  spading  the 
15 


2l8  WAYSIDE   CO  UK  T SHIPS. 

flower  beds,  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Miner's  entreat 
ies  that  he  should  rest.  It  gave  him  great 
pleasure  to  work  there  with  her  and  the  chil 
dren. 

"  You  see,  I'm  lonesome  here,"  he  explained. 
"  Just  out  of  school,  and  I  miss  the  boys  and 
girls.  I  don't  know  anybody  except  a  few  of 
the  carpenters  here,  and  so — well,  I  kind  of  like 
it.  I  always  helped  around  the  house  at  home. 
It's  all  fun  for  me,  so  don't  you  say  a  word.  I've 
got  lots  o'  muscle  to  spare,  and  you're  welcome 
to  it." 

He  spaded  away  without  many  words.  The 
warm  sun  shone  down  upon  them  all,  and  they 
made  a  pretty  group.  Mrs.  Miner,  rake  in  hand, 
was  pulverizing  the  beds  as  fast  as  he  spaded, 
her  face  flushed  and  almost  happy.  The  chil 
dren  were  wrist-deep  in  the  fresh  earth,  planting 
twigs  and  pebbles,  their  babble  of  talk  some  way 
akin  to  the  cry  of  the  woodpecker,  the  laugh  of 
the  robin,  the  twitter  of  the  sparrow,  the  smell 
of  spring,  and  the  merry  downpour  of  sun 
shine. 

Mrs.  Miner  was  silent.  She  was  thinking 
how  different  her  life  would  have  been  if  her 
husband  had  only  taken  an  interest  in  her  affairs. 
She  did  not  think  of  any  one  else  as  her  hus 
band,  but  only  Miner  in  a  different  mood. 

Morris  went  back  to  work.  As  the  work 
neared  the  end,  his  determination  to  punish  the 
scoundrel  husband  grew.  His  inclination  to 
charge  him  with  burning  the  mill  grew  stronger. 


THE   OWNER   OF    THE  MILL   FARM. 


219 


He  wondered  if  it  wouldn't  serve  as  a  club. 
"  Now,  sir,"  he  said,  meeting  Miner  as  he  came 
outvof  the  barn  that  night,  "I'm  done  on  the 
barn,  but  I'm  not  done  on  you.  I'm  goin'  to 
whale  you  till  you  won't  know  yourself.  I  ought 
'o  'a  done  it  that  first  day  at  dinner."  He  ad 
vanced  upon  Miner,  who  backed  away,  scared 
at  something  he  saw  in  the  young  man's  eyes 
and  something  he  heard  in  his  inflexible  tone  of 
voice. 

He  thrust  out  his  palm  in  a  wild  gesture. 
"  Keep  away  from  me!  I'll  split  your  heart  if 
you  touch  me  !  " 

Morris  advanced  another  step,  his  eyes  look 
ing  straight  into  Miner's  with  the  level  look  of 
a  tiger's.  "  No,  y'  won't !  You're  too  much  of 
an  infernal,  sneaky  little  whelp!" 

At  the  word  whelp,  he  cuffed  him  with  his 
hammerlike  fist,  and  Miner  went  down  in  a  heap. 
He  was  so  abject  that  the  young  man  could  only 
strike  him  with  his  open  hand. 

He  took  him  by  the  shirt  collar  with  his  left 
hand  and  began  to  cuff  him  leisurely  and  ter 
ribly  with  his  right.  His  blows  punctuated  his 
sentences.  "You're  a  little  [whack]  villain.  I'll 
thrash  you  till  you  won't  see  out  of  your  blasted 
eyes  for  a  month  !  I  can't  stand  a  man  [here  he 
jounced  him  up  and  down  with  his  left  hand, 
apparently  with  infinite  satisfaction]  who  bullies 
his  wife  and  children  as  you  do  [here  he  cuffed 
him  again],  and  I'll  make  it  my  business  to  even 
things  up " 


220  WA  YSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

The  prostrate  man  began  to  scream  for  help. 
He  was  livid  with  fear.  He  fancied  murder  in 
the  blaze  of  his  assailant's  eye. 

"Help!  help!  Minnie!  " 

"  Call  her  by  her  first  name  now,  will  yeh  ? 
will  yeh  ?  Call  her  out  to  help  yeh  !  Do  you 
think  she  will  ?  I  want  to  tell  you,  besides,  I 
know  something  about  that  mill  burning.  It's 
just  like  your  contemptible  mustard-seed  of  a 
soul  to  burn  that  mill!  " 

Mrs.  Miner  came  flying  out.  She  could  not 
recognize  her  husband  in  the  bleeding,  dirty, 
abject  thing  squirming  under  the  young  man's 
knee. 

"Why,  Mr.  Morris,  who  —  why  —  why,  it's 
Tom !  "  she  gasped,  her  eyes  distended  with  sur 
prise  and  horror. 

Morris  looked  up  at  her  coolly.  "  Yes,  it's 
Tom."  He  then  gave  his  attention  to  the  writh 
ing  figure  under  him.  "  Crawl,  you  infernal 
whelp  !  Lick  the  dust,  confound  you  !  Quick  !  " 
he  commanded,  growing  each  moment  more 
savage. 

Mrs.  Miner  clung  to  his  arm.  "  Please 
don't,"  she  pleaded.  "  You're  killing  him." 

Morris  did  not  look  up.  "  Oh,  no,  I  ain't. 
I'm  giving  him  a  little  taste  of  his  own  medi 
cine."  He  flopped  Miner  over  on  his  face  and 
dragged  him  around  in  the  dust  like  an  old 
sack.  "  Beg  her  pardon,  or  I'll  thrash  the 
ground  with  yeh  !  " 

"  Please  don't,"  pleaded  the  wife,  using  her 


THE   OWNER    OF   THE  MILL   FARM.    22I 

whole  strength  to  stop  him  in  his  circuit  with  the 
almost  insensible  Miner. 

"  Beg  !  "  he  said  again,  "  beg,  or  I'll  cave 
your  backbone  in."  There  was  a  terrible  up 
ward  inflection  in  his  voice  now,  a  half-jocular 
tone  that  was  more  terrible  than  the  muffled 
snarl  in  which  he  had  previously  been  speak 
ing. 

"  I  beg  !  I  beg  !  "  cried  Miner. 

Morris  released  him,  and  he  crawled  to  a  sit 
ting  posture.  Mrs.  Miner  fell  on  her  knees  by 
his  side,  and  began  wiping  the  blood  from  his 
face.  She  was  breathless  with  sobbing  and  the 
children  were  screaming.  The  tears  streamed 
down  her  face,  which  was  white  and  drawn  into 
ghastly  wrinkles. 

"  You've  killed  him  !  "  she  gasped. 

Morris  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
looked  down  on  them  both,  with  a  curious  feel 
ing  of  having  done  something  which  he  might 
repent  of.  He  felt  in  a  way  cut  off  from  the 
satisfactory  ending  of  the  thing  he  had  planned. 

"  Oh,  you've  killed  him  !  " 

"Oh,  no,  I  haven't.  He's  all  right."  He 
looked  at  them  a  moment  longer  to  see  if  there 
were  any  rage  remaining  in  the  face  of  the  hus 
band,  and  then  at  the  wife  to  discover  her  feeling 
concerning  his  action.  Then  he  looked  back  at 
the  husband  again,  and  apparently  justified  him 
self  for  what  he  had  done  by  the  memory  of 
the  ineffable  shame  to  which  the  wife  had  been 
subjected. 


222  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

"  Now,  if  I  hear  another  word  of  your  abuse," 
he  said,  as  he  shook  the  dust  from  his  own 
clothes  and  prepared  to  go,  "  I'll  give  you 
another  that  will  make  you  think  that  this  is 
all  fooling.  More  than  that,"  he  said,  turning 
again,  "  I  know  something  that  will  put  you 
where  the  crows  won't  eat  you  ! — If  I  can  be 
of  any  service  to  you,  Mrs.  Miner,  at  any  time 
while  I'm  here,  I  hope  you'll  let  me  know. 
Good-by." 

Mrs.  Miner  did  not  reply,  and  when  Morris 
reached  the  gate  and  looked  back  she  was  still 
kneeling  by  the  side  of  her  husband,  the  sun 
light  shining  down  upon  her  graceful  head. 
Some  way  the  problem  had  increased  in  com 
plexity.  He  felt  a  disgust  of  her  weakness, 
mingled  with  a  feeling  that  he  was  losing 
something  very  fine  and  tender  which  had  but 
just  come  into  his  life. 

He  went  back  to  his  work  on  the  other  side 
of  the  river,  where  his  crew  was  working.  He 
was  called  home  a  few  weeks  later,  and  he 
never  saw  husband  or  wife  again.  He  learned 
from  Wilber,  however,  in  a  short  letter  that 
things  were  going  much  the  same  as  ever. 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  I  don't  know  much  about  Miner. 
Hees  purty  quiet  I  guess.  Dock  Moss  thinks 
hees  a  little  off  his  nut.  I  don't.  I  think  its 
pur  cussidness." 


OF   THOSE   WHO   SEEK. 


I.     THE   PRISONED   SOUL. 

THE  Capitol  swarmed  with  people. 

Groups  of  legislators  tramped  noisily  along 
the  corridors,  laughing  loudly,  gesticulating  with 
pointed  fingers  or  closed  fists. 

Squads  of  ragged,  wondering,  and  wistful- 
eyed  negroes,  splashed  with  orange-colored  mud 
from  the  fields,  moved  timidly  on  from  magnifi 
cence  to  magnificence,  keeping  close  to  each 
other,  solemn  and  silent.  When  they  spoke 
they  whispered.  Others  from  the  city  streets 
laughed  loudly  and  swaggered  along  to  show 
their  contempt  for  the  place  and  their  knowl 
edge  of  its  public  character ;  but  their  insolence 
was  halfassumed. 

Lean  and  lank  Southerners,  with  the  im 
perial  cut  on  their  pale,  bVown  whiskers,  alter 
nated  with  stalwart,  slouch-hatted  Westerners. 
Clean-shaven,  pale  clerks  hurried  to  and  fro ; 
groups  of  sightseers  infested  every  nook,  and 
wore  the  look  of  those  determined  to  see  it  all. 

223 


224 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


They  were  accompanied  often  by  one  whose 
certainty  of  accent  gave  evidence  of  his  fitness 
to  be  their  guide.  The  sound  of  his  voice  pro 
claimed  his  judgments  as  he  pushed  his  dazed 
wordless  victims  about. 

In  a  group  in  the  center  of  the  checkered 
marble  floor  of  the  rotunda,  a  powerful  Indian, 
dressed  in  semi-civilized  fashion,  was  standing, 
looking  wonderingly  down  into  the  upturned 
face  of  a  little  girl.  The  circle  of  bystanders 
silently  studied  both  man  and  maid. 

She  was  about  eleven  years  of  age  and  was 
tastefully  dressed,  and  seemed  a  healthy  child. 
Her  face  was  solemn,  sweet,  and  inquisitive. 
She  held  one  half-opened  hand  in  the  air ; 
with  the  other  she  touched  the  Indian's  dark, 
strongly  molded  cheek,  and  pressed  his  long 
hair  which  streamed  from  beneath  his  broad 
white  hat. 

No  one  smiled.  She  was  deaf  and  dumb  and 
blind. 

In  her  raised  rosy  little  palm,  with  lightning- 
swift  motion,  fluttered  the  hand  of  her  teacher. 
By  the  teacher's  side  stood  an  Indian  interpreter, 
dressed  in  hunting  shirt  and  broad  hat. 

"  I  am  Umatilla,"  said  the  chief,  in  answer  to 
a  question  from  the  teacher.  His  deep  voice 
was  like  the  mutter  of  a  lion  ;  he  stood  with  gen 
tle  dignity  still  looking  wonderingly  down  into 
the  girl's  sweet,  solemn,  and  eager  face. 

A  bystander  said,  "  Poor  child  !  "  in  a  low, 
tremulous  tone,  followed  by  a  sigh. 


OF   THOSE    WHO   SEEK.  22$ 

The  little  one's  hand,  light,  swift,  and  seek 
ing,  touched  the  Indian's  ringed  ears  and 
pressed  again  his  long  hair,  while  her  teacher's 
swift  fingers  said,  "  This  strange  man  comes 
from  a  far-off  land,  from  vast  mountains  and 
forests  away  toward  the  western  sea.  The  wind 
and  sun  have  made  his  face  dark,  and  the  long 
hair  is  a  protection  from  the  cold.  He  is  a  chief." 

Under  her  broad  hat  the  child's  exquisite 
mouth,  with  its  dimpled  corners,  remained 
calm  but  touchingly  wistful.  Her  eyes  were  in 
shadow.  Her  chin  was  a  perfect  oval,  delicately 
beautiful,  like  the  curving  lines  of  a  peach, 
with  the  clear  transparency  of  color  of  a  flower's 
chalice. 

But  the  bystander  said  again,  "  Poor  child  !  " 
as  if  a  shudder  of  awe,  of  wordless  compassion 
and  bitterness,  shook  him. 

She  was  so  beautiful,  so  gifted  in  spirit,  to  be 
thus  shut  in !  Her  inclosing  flesh  was  so  fine 
and  sweet,  it  seemed  impossible  it  could  be  an 
impassable,  almost  impenetrable  wall. 

He  thought :  She  will  soon  be  a  woman,  with 
all  the  vague,  unutterable  longings  and  passions 
of  the  woman.  Her  lithe  body  will  be  as  beauti 
ful  as  her  soul,  and  the  warm  oval  of  her  face 
will  flash  and  flame  with  her  expanding,  strug 
gling  life.  Her  caged  soul  will  struggle  for  light 
and  companionship,  blindly,  vainly. 

Life  to  her  must  remain  a  cruel  fragment. 
Light  and  color  she  may  not  miss;  but  wifehood, 
maternity,  the  touch  of  baby  lips  to  her  breast — 


226  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

these  her  soul  will  grope  for  in  dumb  maternal 
desire.  She  must  inhabit  her  dark  and  sound 
less  cavern  alone. 

Again  she  touched  the  chieftain's  hair  and 
earrings,  and  let  her  hand  drop  down  along  his 
sleeve  to  his  hard,  brown  hand.  Then  her  hand 
fell  to  her  side  with  a  resigned  action. 

As  she  walked  away,  a  sweet  smile  of  pleas 
ure  and  gratitude  flashed  for  an  instant  across 
the  exquisite  curving  line  of  her  lips,  and  then 
the  sad  and  wistful  repose  of  her  face  came  back 
again  as  if  her  loneliness  had  only  been  lightened, 
not  warmed. 

The  young  man  drew  a  long  breath  of  pain 
keen  as  a  physical  hurt.  The  elderly  gentleman 
said  again,  "  Poor  child  !  " 

The  Indian  looked  up  again  into  the  mighty 
dome  soaring  hundreds  of  feet  above  him,  and 
wondered  how  those  forms  came  to  be  set  flying 
in  mid-air,  and  his  heart  grew  sad  and  wistful 
too,  as  if  a  realization  of  the  power  and  majesty 
of  the  white  man  fell  like  a  poisonous,  fateful 
shadow  over  his  people  and  himself. 


II.     A  SHELTERED   ONE. 

THE  young  man  came  in  out  of  the  cold  dash 
of  rain.  The  negro  man  received  his  outside 
garments  and  ushered  him  into  the  drawing- 
room,  where  a  bright  fire  welcomed  him  like  a 
smiling  hostess. 


OF   THOSE    WHO   SEEK. 


227 


He  sat  down  with  a  sudden  relaxation  of  his 
muscles.  As  he  waited  at  his  ease,  his  senses 
absorbed  the  light  and  warmth  and  beauty  of 
the  house.  It  was  familiar  and  yet  it  had  a  new 
meaning  to  him.  A  bird  was  singing  somewhere 
in  the  upper  chambers,  caroling  with  a  joyous 
note  that  seemed  to  harmonize  with  the  warmth 
and  color  of  the  room  in  which  the  caller  sat. 

The  young  man  stared  at  the  fire,  his  head 
leaning  on  his  hand.  There  were  lines  of  gloomy 
thought  in  his  face.  There  were  marks  of  bitter 
struggle  on  his  hands.  His  dress  was  strong  and 
good,  but  not  in  the  mode.  He  looked  like  a 
young  lawyer,  with  his  lean,  dark  face,  smoothly 
shaven  save  for  a  little  tuft  on  either  cheek. 
His  long  hands  were  heavy-jointed  with  toil. 

He  listened  to  the  bird  singing  and  to  the 
answering,  chirping  call  of  a  girl's  voice.  His 
head  drooped  forward  in  deep  reverie. 

How  beautiful  her  life  is  !  his  thought  was. 
How  absolutely  without  care  or  struggle  !  She 
knows  no  uncertainty  such  as  I  feel  daily,  hour 
ly.  She  has  never  a  doubt  of  daily  food ;  the 
question  of  clothes  has  been  a  diversion  for  her, 
a  worry  of  choice  merely.  Dirt,  grime,  she 
knows  nothing  of.  Here  she  lives,  sheltered  in 
a  glow  of  comfort  and  color,  while  I  hang  by  my 
finger-ends  over  a  bottomless  pit.  She  sleeps 
and  dreams  while  I  fight.  She  is  never  weary, 
while  I  sink  into  my  bed  each  night  as  if  it  were 
my  grave.  Every  hand  held  out  to  her  is  a 
willing  hand — if  it  is  paid  for,  it  is  willing,  for 


228  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

she  has  no  enemies  even  among  her  servants. 
O  God  !  If  I  could  only  reach  such  a  place  to 
rest  for  just  a  year — for  just  a  month  !  But  such 
security,  such  rest  is  out  of  my  reach.  I  must 
toil  and  toil,  and  when  at  last  I  reach  a  place  to 
pause  and  rest,  I  shall  be  old  and  brutalized 
and  deadened,  and  my  rest  will  be  merely — 
sleep. 

He  looked  once  more  about  the  lovely  room. 
The  ocean  wind  tore  at  the  windows  with  wolf 
ish  claws,  savage  to  enter. 

"  The  world  howling  out  there  is  as  impotent 
to  do  her  harm  as  is  that  wind  at  the  window," 
the  young  man  added. 

The  bird's  song  again  joined  itself  to  the  gay 
voice  of  the  girl,  and  then  he  heard  quick  foot 
steps  on  the  stairs,  and  as  he  rose  to  greet  her 
the  room  seemed  to  glow  like  the  heart  of  a 
ruby. 

They  clasped  hands  and  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes  a  moment.  He  saw  love  and  ad 
miration  in  her  face.  She  saw  only  friendliness 
and  some  dark,  unsmiling  mood  in  his. 

They  sat  down  and  talked  upon  the  fringe  of 
personalities  which  he  avoided.  She  fancied 
that  she  saw  a  personal  sorrow  in  his  face  and 
she  longed  to  comfort  him.  She  longed  to  touch 
his  vexed  forehead  with  her  fingers. 

They  talked  on,  of  late  books  and  coming 
music.  He  noticed  how  clear  and  sweet  and  in 
telligent  were  her  eyes.  Refinement  was  in  the 
folds  of  her  dress  and  in  the  faint  perfume  which 


OF   THOSE    WHO   SEEK. 


229 


exhaled  from  her  drapery.  The  firm  flesh  of  her 
arms  appealed  to  him  like  the  limbs  of  a  child 
so  beautiful  and  tender  ! 

He  saw  in  her  face  something  wistful,  rest 
less.  He  tried  to  ignore  it,  to  seem  unconscious 
of  the  adoration  he  saw  there,  for  it  pained  him. 
It  affected  him  as  a  part  of  the  general  misdirec 
tion  of  affection  and  effort  in  the  world. 

She  asked  him  about  his  plans.  He  told  her 
of  them.  He  grew  stern  and  savage  as  he  out 
lined  the  work  which  he  had  set  himself  to  do. 
His  hands  spread  and  clutched,  and  his  teeth  set 
together  involuntarily.  "  It  is  to  be  a  fight,"  he 
said  ;  "  but  I  shall  win.  Bribery,  blackmail,  the 
press,  and  all  other  forces  are  against  me,  but  I 
shall  win." 

He  rose  at  length  to  a  finer  mood  as  he 
sketched  the  plan  which  he  hoped  to  set  in 
action. 

She  looked  at  him  with  expanding  eyes  and 
quickened  breath.  A  globed  light  each  soft  eye 
seemed  to  him. 

He  spoke  more  freely  of  the  struggle  outside 
in  order  to  make  her  feel  her  own  sweet  security 
— here  where  the  grime  of  trade  and  the  reek  of 
politics  never  came. 

At  last  he  rose  to  go,  smiling  a  little  as  if  in 
apology  for  his  dark  mood.  He  looked  down 
at  her  slender  body  robed  so  daintily  in  gray 
and  white ;  she  made  him  feel  coarse  and 
rough. 

Her  eyes  appealed  to  him,  her  glance  was 


230  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

like  a  detaining  hand.  He  felt  it,  and  yet  he 
said  abruptly: 

"  Good  night." 

"  You'll  come  to  see  me  again !  " 

"Yes/'  he  answered  very  simply  and  gravely. 

And  she,  looking  after  him  as  he  went  down 
the  street  with  head  bent  in  thought,  grew  weak 
with  a  terrible  weakness,  a  sort  of  hunger,  and 
deep  in  her  heart  she  cried  out : 

"  Oh,  the  brave,  splendid  life  he  leads  out 
there  in  the  world  !  Oh,  the  big,  brave  world !  " 

She  clinched  her  pink  hand. 

"  Oh,  this  terrible,  humdrum  woman's  life  ! 
It  kills  me,  it  smothers  me.  I  must  do  some 
thing.  I  must  be  something.  I  can't  live  here 
in  this  way  —  useless.  I  must  get  into  the 
world." 

And  looking  around  the  cushioned,  glowing, 
beautiful  room,  she  thought  bitterly  : 

"  This  is  being  a  woman.  O  God,  I  want  to 
be  free  of  four  walls  !  I  want  to  struggle  like 
that." 

And  then  she  sat  down  before  the  fire  and 
whispered  very  softly,  "  I  want  to  fight  in  the 
world — with  him." 


III.     A   FAIR   EXILE. 

THE  train  was  ambling  across  the  hot,  russet 
plain.  The  wind,  strong  and  warm  and  dry, 
sweeping  up  from  the  south,  carried  with  it  the 


OF   THOSE    WHO   SEEK.  2$l 

subtle  odor  of  September  grass  and  gathered 
harvests.  Out  of  the  unfenced  roads  the  dust 
arose  in  long  lines  like  smoke  from  some  hidden 
burning  which  the  riven  earth  revealed.  The 
fields  were  tenanted  with  thrashing  crews,  the 
men  diminished  by  distance  to  pygmies,  the  long 
belt  of  the  engine  flapping  and  shining  like  a 
ribbon  in  the  flaming  sunlight. 

The  freight  cars  on  the  accommodation  train 
jostled  and  rocked  about  and  heaved  up  later 
ally,  till  they  resembled  a  long  line  of  awkward, 
frightened,  galloping  buffaloes.  The  one  coach 
was  scantily  filled  with  passengers,  mainly  poor 
ly  clothed  farmers  and  their  families. 

A  young  man  seated  well  back  in  the  coach 
was  looking  dreamily  out  of  the  window,  and 
the  conductor,  a  keen-eyed  young  fellow,  after 
passing  him  several  times,  said  in  a  friendly 
way  : 

"  Going  up  to  Boomtown,  I  imagine." 

"  Yes — if  we  ever  get  there." 

"  Oh,  we'll  get  there.  We  won't  have  much 
more  switching.  We've  only  got  an  empty  car 
or  two  to  throw  in  at  the  junction." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  of  that.  I'm  a  little  impa 
tient  because  I've  got  a  case  coming  up  in  court, 
and  I'm  not  exactly  fixed  for  it." 

"Your  name. is  Allen,  I  believe." 

"  Yes,  J.  H.  Allen,  of  Sioux  City." 

"  I  thought  so.     I've  heard  you  speak." 

The  young  lawyer  was  a  tall,  slender,  dark- 
eyed  man,  rather  somber  in  appearance.  He 


232  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

did  not  respond  to  the  invitation  in  the  conduct 
or's  voice. 

"When  do  you  reach  the  junction  ?" 
"  Next  stop.     We're  only  a  few  minutes  late. 
Expect  to  meet  friends  there  ?  " 

"  No  ;  thought  I'd  get  a  lunch,  that's  all." 
At  the  junction  the  car  became  pretty  well 
filled  with  people.  Two  or  three  Norwegian 
families  came  clattering  in,  the  mothers  clothed 
in  heavy  shawls  and  cheap  straw  hats,  the  flaxen- 
haired  children  in  faded  cottonade  and  blue 
denims.  They  filled  nearly  half  the  seats. 
Several  drummers  came,  in,  laughing  loudly, 
bearing  heavy  valises.  Then  Allen  heard  above 
the  noise  the  shrill  but  sweet  voice  of  a  girl,  and 
caught  the  odor  of  violets  as  two  persons  passed 
him  and  took  a  seat  just  before  him. 

The  man  he  knew  by  sight  and  reputation  as 
a  very  brilliant  young  lawyer,  Edward  Benson, 
of  Heron  Lake.  The  girl  'he  knew  instantly  to 
be  utterly  alien  to  this  land  and  people.  She 
was  like  a  tropic  bird  seen  amid  the  scant  foliage 
of  northern  hills.  There  was  evidence  of  great 
care  and  taste  in  every  fold  of  her  modish  dress. 
Her  hat  was  simple  but  in  the  latest  city  fashion, 
and  her  gloves  were  spotless.  She  gave  off  an 
odor  of  cleanliness  and  beauty. 

She  was  very  young  and  slender.  Her  face 
was  piquant  but  not  intellectual,  and  scarcely 
beautiful.  It  pleased  rather  by  its  life  and  mo 
tion  and  oddity  than  by  its  beauty.  She  looked 
at  her  companion  in  a  peculiar  way — trustfully 


OF   THOSE    WHO   SEEK.  233 

almost  reverently — and  yet  with  a  touch  of  co 
quetry  which  seemed  perfectly  native  to  every 
turn  of  her  body  or  glance  of  her  eyes. 

The  young  lawyer  was  a  fine  Western  type  of 
self-made  man.  He  was  tall  and  broad-shoul 
dered,  but  walked  a  little  stooping,  like  a  man  of 
fifty.  He  wore  a  long  Prince  Albert  frock  coat 
hanging  loosely  from  his  rather  square  shoulders. 
His  white  vest  was  a  little  soiled  by  his  watch 
chain  and  his  tie  was  disarranged. 

His  face  was  very  fine  and  good.  His  eyes 
were  gray-blue,  deep  and  quiet  but  slightly  smil 
ing,  as  were  his  lips,  which  his  golden-brown 
mustache  shaded  but  did  not  hide.  He  was 
kept  smiling  in  this  quizzical  way  by  the  nerv 
ous  chatter  of  the  girl  beside  him.  His  profile, 
which  was  the  view  Allen  had  of  him,  was  hand 
some.  The  strong,  straight  nose  and  abrupt 
forehead  formed  a  marked  contrast  to  the  rather 
characterless  nose  and  retreating  forehead  of 
the  girl. 

The  first  words  that  Allen  distinguished  out 
of  the  merry  war  in  which  they  seemed  engaged 
were  spoken  in  the  tone  of  pretty  petulance  such 
women  use,  a  coquette's  defense. 

"  You  did,  you  did,  you  did.  Now !  You 
know  you  did.  You  told  me  that.  You  told 
me  you  despised  girls  like  me." 

"  I  said  I  despised  women  who  had  no  ob 
ject  in  life  but  dress,"  he  replied,  rather  soberly. 

"  But  you  were  hopping  on  me  ;  you  meant 
me,  now  !  You  can't  deny  it.  You  despise  me, 
16 


234  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

I  know  you  do  !  "  She  challenged  his  flattery 
in  her  pouting  self-depreciation. 

The  young  man  tried  to  stop  her  in  her 
course,  to  change  her  mood,  which  was  descend 
ing  to  real  feeling.  His  low  words  could  not  be 
heard. 

"  Yes,  yes,  try  to  smooth  it  over,  but  you 
can't  fool  me  any  more.  But  I  don't  want  you 
to  flatter  me  and  lie  to  me  the  way  Judge  Stearns 
did,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  change  of  manner. 
"  I  like  you  because  you're  square." 

The  phrase  with  which  she  ended  seemed  to 
take  on  a  new  meaning  uttered  by  those  red  lips 
in  childish  pout. 

"  Now,  why  are  you  down  on  the  judge  ?  I 
don't  see,"  said  the  man,  as  if  she  had  gone  back 
to  an  old  attack. 

"  Well,  if  you'd  seen  what  I  have  you'd  under 
stand."  She  turned  away  and  looked  out  of  the 
window.  "  Oh,  this  terrible  country !  I'd  die 
out  here  in  six  weeks.  I  know  I  should." 

The  young  lawyer  was  not  to  be  turned 
aside. 

"  Of  course  I'm  pleased  to  have  you  throw 
the  judge  over,  and  employ  me,  but,  all  the  same, 
I  think  you  do  him  an  injustice.  He's  a  good, 
square  man." 

"  Square  man  !  "  she  said,  turning  to  him  with 
a  sudden  fury  in  her  eyes.  u  Do  you  call  it 
square  for  a  man — married,  and  gray-haired,  too 

to  take  up  with  a  woman  like  Mrs.  Shellberg  ? 

Say,  do  you,  now  ?  " 


OF   THOSE    WHO   SEEK.  235 

"Well,  I  don't  quite  believe " 

"  Oh,  I  lie,  do  I  ?  "  she  said,  with  another 
swift  change  to  reproach.  "  You  can't  take  my 
word  for  Mrs.  Shellberg's  visit  to  his  office." 

"  But  he  was  her  lawyer." 

"  But  you  know  what  kind  of  a  woman  she 
is !  She  didn't  need  to  go  there  every  day  or 
two,  did  she  ?  What  did  he  always  receive  her 
in  his  private  office  for  ?  Come,  now,  tell  me 
that." 

"  I  don't  know  that  he  did,"  persisted  the 
lawyer. 

A  sort  of  convulsion  passed  over  her  face, 
her  little  hands  clinched,  and  the  tears  started 
into  her  eyes.  Her  voice  was  very  quiet. 

"  You  think  I  lie,  then  ?  " 

"I  think  you  are  mistaken,  just  as  other 
jealous  women  have " 

"  You  think  I'm  jealous,  do  you  ?  " 

"  You  act  like  a  jeal " 

"  Jealous  of  that  gray-haired  old  wretch  ? 
No,  sir  !  I — I — "  She  struggled  to  express  her 
self.  "  I  liked  him,  and  I  hated  to  lose  all  my 
faith  in  men.  I  thought  he  was  good  and  honest 
when  he  prayed —  Oh,  I've  seen  him  pray  in 
church,  the  old  hypocrite  !  "  her  fury  returned 
at  the  recollection. 

Her  companion's  face  grew  grave.  The  smile 
went  out  of  his  eyes,  leaving  them  dark  and 
sorrowful. 

"  I  understand  you  now,"  he  said,  at  last. 
She  turned  to  look  at  him.  "  My  practice  in  the 


236  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

divorce  business  out  here  has  almost  destroyed 
my  faith  in  women.  If  it  weren't  for  my  wife 
and  sister " 

She  broke  in  eagerly  :  "  Now  I  know  you 
know  what  I  mean.  Sometimes  I  think  men  are 
— devils."  She  thrust  this  word  forth,  and  her 
little  face  grew  dark  and  strained.  "  But  the 
judge  kept  me  from  thinking — I  never  loved  my 
father  ;  he  didn't  care  for  me  ;  all  he  wanted  to 
do  was  to  make  ten  thousand  barrels  of  beer  a 
year  and  sell  it ;  and  the  judge  seemed  like  a 
father  to  me  till  she  came  and  destroyed  my  faith 
in  him." 

"  But— well,  let  Mrs.  S.  go.  There  are  lots 
of  good  men  and  pure  women  in  the  world.  It's 
dangerous  to  think  there  aren't — especially  for 
a  handsome  young  woman  like  you.  You  can't 
afford  to  keep  in  that  kind  of  a  mood  long." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously.  "  That's  what 
I  like  about  you,"  she  said  soberly.  "  You  talk 
to  me  as  if  I  had  some  sense — as  if  I  was  a 
human  being.  If  you  were  to  flatter  me,  now, 
and  make  love  to  me,  I  never  would  believe  in 
any  man  again." 

He  smiled  again  in  his  frank,  good  way,  and 
drew  a  picture  from  his  pocket.  It  was  a  picture 
of  a  woman  bending  down  over  a  laughing, 
naked  child,  sprawling  frogwise  in  her  lap. 
The  woman's  face  was  broad  and  intellectual 
and  handsome.  The  look  of  splendid  mater 
nity  was  in  her  eyes.  They  both  looked  at  the 
picture  in  silence.  The  girl  sighed. 


OF   THOSE    WHO   SEEK.  2$? 

"  I  wish  I  was  as  good  as  that  woman  looks." 

"  You  can  be  if  you  try." 

"  Not  with  a  big  Chicago  brewer  for  a  father 
and  a  husband  that  beats  you  whenever  the 
mood  takes  him." 

"  I  admit  that's  hard.  I  think  the  atmos 
phere  of  that  Heron  Lake  hotel  isn't  any  great 
help  to  you." 

"  Oh,  they're  a  gay  lot  there  !  We  fight  like 
cats  and  dogs."  A  look  of  slyness  and  boldness 
came  over  her  face.  "  Mrs.  Shellberg  hates  me 
as  hard  as  I  do  her.  She  used  to  go  around 
telling,  '  It's  very  peculiar,  you  know  '  " — she  imi 
tated  her  rival's  voice — "  *  but  no  matter  which 
end  of  the  dining  room  I  sit,  all  the  men  look 
that  way  !  '  " 

The  young  lawyer  laughed  at  her  in  spite 
of  himself. 

"  But  they  don't,  now.  That's  the  reason 
she  hates  rne,"  she  said,  in  conclusion.  "  The 
men  don't  notice  her  when  I'm  around." 

To  hear  her  fresh  young  lips  utter  those 
words' with  their  vile  inflections  was  like  taking 
a  sudden  glimpse  into  the  underworld  where 
harlots  dwell  and  the  spirits  of  unrestrained 
lusts  dance  in  the  shadowy  recesses  of  the  hu 
man  heart. 

Allen,  hearing  this  fragmentary  conversation, 
fascinated  yet  uneasy,  looked  at  the  pair  with 
wonder.  They  seemed  unconscious  of  their  pub 
lic  situation. 

The   young   lawyer    looked   straight   before 


238  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

him  while  the  girl,  swept  on  by  her  ignoble  rage, 
displayed  still  more  of  the  moral  ulceration 
Which  had  been  injected  into  her  young  life. 

"  I  don't  see  what  men  find  about  her  to  like 
— unless  it  is  her  eyes.  She's  got  beautiful 
eyes.  But  she's  vulgar — ugh  !  The  stories  she 
tells — right  before  men,  too  !  She'd  kill  any  one 
that  got  ahead  of  her,  that  woman  would  !  And 
yet  she'll  come  into  my  room  and  cry  and  cry 
and  say  :  '  Don't  take  him  away  from  me  !  Leave 
him  to  me.'  Ugh  !  It  makes  me  sick."  She 
stamped  her  foot,  then  added,  irrelevantly : 
"  She  wears  a  wig,  too.  I  suppose  that  old 
fool  of  a  judge  thinks  it's  her  own  hair." 

The  lawyer  sat  in  stony  silence.  His  grave 
face  was  accusing  in  its  set  expression,  and  she 
felt  it  and  was  spurred  on  to  do  still  deeper  in 
justice  to  herself — an  insane  perversity. 

"  Not  that  I  care  a  cent — I'm  not  jealous  of 
her.  I  ain't  so  bad  off  for  company  as  she  is. 
She  can't  take  anybody  away  from  me,  but  she 
must  go  and  break  down  my  faith  in  the  judge." 

She  bit  her  lips  to  keep  from  crying  out. 
She  looked  out  of  the  window  again,  seeking 
control. 

The  "  divorce  colony "  never  appeared 
more  sickening  in  its  inner  corruptions  than 
when  delineated  by  this  dainty  young  girl. 
Allen  could  see  the  swarming  men  about  the 
hotels ;  he  could  see  their  hot,  leering  eyes  and 
smell  their  liquor-laden  breaths  as  they  named 
the  latest  addition  to  the  colony  or  boasted 


OF   THOSE    WHO   SEEK.  239 

of  their  associations  with  those  already  well 
known. 

The  girl  turned  suddenly  to  her  companion. 

"  How  do  those  people  live  out  here  on  their 
farms  ?  " 

She  pointed  at  a  small  shanty  where  the 
whole  family  stood  to  watch  the  train  go  by. 

"By  eating  boiled  potatoes  and  salt  pork." 

"  Salt  pork  !  "  she  echoed,  as  if  salt  pork 
were  old  boot-heels  or  bark  or  hay.  "  Why,  it 
takes  four  hours  for  salt  pork  to  digest  !  " 

He  laughed  again  at  her  childish  irrelevancy. 
"  So  much  the  better  for  the  poor.  Where'd  you 
learn  all  that,  anyway  ?  " 

"  At  school.  Oh,  you  needn't  look  so  incredu 
lous  !  I  went  to  boarding  school.  I  learned  a 
good  deal  more  than  you  think." 

"Well,  so  I  see.  Now,  I  should  have  said 
pork  digested  in  three  hours,  speaking  from  ex 
perience." 

"  Well,  it  don't.  What  do  the  women  do  out 
here  ? " 

"  They  work  like  the  men,  only  more  so." 

"  Do  they  have  any  new  things  ?  " 

"  Not  very  often,  I'm  afraid." 

She  sighed.     After  a  pause  she  said  : 

"  You  were  raised  on  a  farm  ?  " 

"  Yes.     In  Minnesota." 

"  Did  you  do  work  like  that  ?  "  She  pointed 
at  a  thrashing  machine  in  the  field. 

"  Yes,  I  plowed  and  sowed  and  reaped  and 
mowed.  I  wasn't  on  the  farm  for  my  health." 


240  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

"  You're  very  strong,  aren't  you  ?  "  she  asked 
admiringly. 

"  In  a  slab-sided  kind  of  a  way — yes." 

Her  eyes  grew  abstracted. 

"  I  like  strong  men.  Ollie  was  a  little  man, 
not  any  taller  than  I  am,  but  when  he  was  drunk 
he  was  what  men  call  a — a — holy  terror.  He 
struck  me  with  the  water  pitcher  once — that  was 
just  before  baby  was  born.  I  wish  he'd  killed 
me."  She  ended  in  a  sudden  reaction  to  hope 
less  bitterness.  "  It  would  have  saved  me  all 
these  months  of  life  in  this  terrible  country." 

"  It  might  have  saved  you  from  more  than 
you  think,"  he  said  quietly,  tenderly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"You've  been  brought  up  against  women  and 
men  who  have  defiled  you.  They've  made  your 
future  uncertain." 

"  Do  you  think  it's  so  bad  as  that  ?  Tell 
me  !  "  she  insisted,  seeing  his  hesitation. 

"  You're  on  the  road  to  hell !  "  he  said,  in  a 
voice  that  was  very  low,  but  it  reached  her.  It 
was  full  of  pain  and  grave  reprimand  and  gentle 
ness.  "You've  been  poisoned.  You're  in  need 
of  a  good  man's  help.  You  need  the  compan 
ionship  of  good,  earnest  women  instead  of  paint 
ed  harlots." 

Her  voice  shook  painfully  as  she  replied  : 

"  You  don't  think  I'm  all  bad  ?  " 

"  You're  not  bad  at  all — you're  simply  reck 
less.  You  are  not  to  blame.  It  depends  upon 
yourself  now,  though,  whether  you  keep  a 


OF   THOSE    WHO   SEEK.  241 

true  woman  or  go  to  hell  with  Mrs.  Shell- 
berg." 

The  conductor  eyed  them  as  he  passed,  with 
an  unpleasant  light  in  his  eyes,  and  the  drum 
mers  a  few  seats  ahead  turned  to  look  at  them. 
The  tip  had  passed  along  from  lip  to  lip.  They 
were  like  wild  beasts  roused  by  the  presence  of 
prey.  Their  eyes  gleamed  with  relentless  lust. 
They  eyed  the  little  creature  with  ravening 
eyes.  Her  helplessness  was  their  opportu 
nity. 

Allen,  sitting  there,  saw  the  terror  and  trage 
dy  of  the  girl's  life.  Her  reckless,  prodigal 
girlhood ;  the  coarse,  rich  father  ;  the  marriage, 
when  a  thoughtless  girl,  with  a  drunken,  disso 
lute  boy ;  the  quarrels,  brutal  beatings ;  the 
haste  to  secure  a  divorce ;  the  contamination 
of  the  crowded  hotels  in  Heron  Lake — and  this 
slender  young  girl,  naturally  pure,  alert,  quick 
of  impulse — she  was  like  a  lamb  among  lustful 
wolves.  His  heart  ached  for  her. 

The  deep,  slow  voice  of  the  lawyer  sounded 
on.  His  eyes  turned  toward  her  had  no  equivo 
cal  look.  He  was  a  brother  speaking  to  a  young 
er  sister.  The  tears  fell  down  her  cheeks,  upon 
her  folded  hands.  Her  widely  opened  eyes 
seemed  to  look  out  into  a  night  of  storms. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  she  moaned.  "  I  wish 
I  was  dead — and  baby  too  !  " 

"  Live  for  the  baby — let  him  help  you  out." 

"  Oh,  he  can't !  I  don't  care  enough  for  him. 
I  wish  I  was  like  other  mothers ;  but  I'm  not. 


242  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

I  can't  shut  myself  up  with  a  baby.  I'm  too 
young." 

He  saw  that.  She  was  seeking  the  love  of  a 
man,  not  the  care  of  a  child.  She  had  the  wifely 
passion,  but  not  the  mother's  love.  He  was 
silent ;  the  case  baffled  him. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  you  could  help  me.  I  wish  I 
had  you  all  the  time.  I  do  !  I  don't  care  what 
you  think,  /  do,  I  do  !  " 

"  Our  home  is  open  to  you  and  baby,  too," 
he  said  slowly.  "  My  wife  knows  about  you, 
and " 

"  Who  told  her— did  you  ?  "  she  flashed  out 
again,  angrily,  jealously. 

k<  Yes.  My  wife  is  my  other  self,"  he  replied 
quietly. 

She  stared  at  him,  breathing  heavily,  then 
looked  out  of  the  window  again.  At  last  she 
turned  to  him.  She  seemed  to  refer  to  his  invi 
tation. 

"  Oh,  this  terrible  land  !  Oh,  I  couldn't  stay 
here.  I'd  go  insane.  Perhaps  I'm  going  insane 
anyway.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  you're  a  little  nervous,  that's 
all." 

"  Oh  !     Do  you  think  I'll  get  my  divorce  ?  " 

"Certainly,  without  question." 

"  Can  I  wait  and  go  back  with  you  ? " 

"  I  shall  not  return  for  several  days.  Per 
haps  you  couldn't  bear  the  wait  in  this  little 
town  ;  it's  not  much  like  the  city." 

"  Oh,  dear  !     But  I  can't  go  about  alone.     I 


OF   THOSE    WHO   SEEK.  243 

hate  these  men,  they  stare  at  me  so  !  I  wish  I 
was  a  man.  It's  awful  to  be  a  woman,  don't  you 
think  so  ?  Please  don't  laugh." 

The  young  lawyer  was  far  from  laughing, 
but  this  was  her  only  way  of  defending  herself. 
These  pert,  birdlike  ways  formed  her  shield 
against  ridicule  and  misprision. 

He  said  slowly,  "Yes,  it's  an  awful  thing  to 
be  a  woman,  but  it's  an  awful  responsibility  to 
be  a  man." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  we  are  responsible  as  the  domi 
nant  sex  for  every  tragic,  incomplete  woman's 
life." 

"  Don't  you  blame  Mrs.  Shellberg  ? "  she 
said,  forcing  him  to  a  concrete  example  with 
savage  swiftness. 

"  No.  She  had  a  poor  father  and  a  poor 
husband,  and  she  must  earn  her  own  living  some 
way." 

"  She  could  cook,  or  nurse,  or  something  like 
that." 

"  It  isn't  easy  to  find  opportunity  to  cook  or 
nurse.  If  it  were  as  easy  to  earn  a  living  in  a 
pure  way  as  it  is  in  a  vicious  way  all  men  would 
be  rich  and  virtuous.  But  what  had  you  planned 
to  do  after  your  divorce  ? " 

"  Oh,  I'm  going  to  travel  for  two  years.  Then 
I'll  try  to  settle  down." 

"What  you  need  is  a  good  husband  and  a 
little  cottage  where  you'd  have  to  cook  your  own 
food — and  tend  the  baby." 


244          •       WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

"I  wouldn't  cook  for  any  man  living,"  she 
broke  in,  to  express  her  bitterness  that  he  could 
so  coldly  dispose  of  her  future.  "  Oh,  this  ter 
rible  train!  Can't  it  go  faster  ?  If  I'd  realized 
what  a  trip  this  was,  I  wouldn't  have  started." 

"  This  is  the  route  you  all  go,"  he  replied 
with  grim  humor,  and  his  words  pictured  a  cease 
less  stream  of  divorcees. 

She  resented  his  classing  her  with  the  rest, 
but  she  simply  said  :  "  You  despise  me,  don't 
you  ?  But  what  can  we  do  ?  You  can't  expect 
us  to  live  with  men  we  hate,  can  you  ?  That 
would  be  worse  than  Mrs.  Shellberg." 

"  No,  I  don't  expect  that  of  you.  I'd  issue  a 
divorce  coupon  with  every  marriage  certificate, 
and  done  with  it,"  he  said,  in  desperate  disgust. 
"  Then  this  whole  cursed  business  would  be  done 
away  with.  It  isn't  a  question  of  our  laxity  of 
divorce  laws,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  it's  a  ques 
tion  of  the  senseless  severity  of  the  laws  in 
other  States.  That's  what  throws  this  demoral 
izing  business  into  our  hands  here." 

"It  pays,  don't  it?  I  know  I've  paid  for 
everything  I've  had." 

"  Yes,  that's  the  demoralizing  thing.  It 
draws  a  gang  of  conscienceless  attorneys  here, 
and  it  draws  us  who  belong  here  off  into  dirty 
work,  and  it  brings  us  into  contact  with  men 
and  women —  I'm  sick  of  the  whole  business." 

She  had  hardly  followed  him  in  his  general 
izations.  She  brought  him  back  to  the  per 
sonal. 


OF   THOSE    WHO  SEEK.  24$ 

"  You're  sick  of  me,  I  know  you  are  !  "  She 
leaned  her  head  on  the  window  pane.  Her  eyes 
closed.  "  Oh,  I  wish  my  heart  would  stop  beat 
ing  !  "  she  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

Allen,  sitting  so  close  behind  them,  was 
forced  to  hear  her,  so  piercingly  sweet  was  her 
voice.  He  trembled  for  fear  some  one  else 
might  hear  her.  It  seemed  like  profanation 
that  any  one  but  the  woman's  God  should  hear 
this  outcry  of  a  quivering,  writhing  soul. 

She  faced  her  companion  again.  "  You're 
the  only  man  I  know,  now,  that  I  respect,  and 
you  despise  me." 

"  No,  I  don't ;  I  pity  you." 

"  That's  worse.  I  want  you  to  help  me.  Oh, 
if  you  could  go  with  me,  or  if  I  could  be  with 
you  !  "  Her  gloved  hands  strained  together  in 
the  agony  of  her  desire. 

His  calm  lips  did  not  waver.  He  did  not 
smile  even  about  the  eyes.  He  knew  her  cry 
sprang  from  her  need  of  a  brother,  not  from 
the  passion  of  a  woman. 

"  Our  home  is  yours,  just  as  long  as  you  can 
bear  the  monotony  of  our  simple  lives,"  he  said, 
in  his  quiet  way,  but  it  was  deep-throated  and 
unmistakable  in  its  sincerity. 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  clasped  it 
hard,  then  turned  away  her  head,  and  they  rode 
in  silence. 

After  they  left  the  car,  Allen  sat  with  savage 
eyes  and  grimly  set  mouth,  going  over  the  prob 
lem  again  and  again.  He  saw  that  young  and 


246  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

helpless  creature  walking  the  gantlet  between 
endless  ranks  of  lustful,  remorseless  men,  snatch 
ing  at  her  in  selfish,  bestial  desire. 

It  made  him  bitter  and  despairing  to  think 
that  women  should  be  helpless — that  they  should 
need  some  man  to  protect  them  against  some 
other  man.  He  cursed  the  laws  and  traditions 
that  had  kept  women  subordinate  and  trivial  and 
deceptive  and  vacillating.  He  wished  they 
could  be  raised  to  the  level  of  the  brutes  till, 
like  the  tigress  or  she-wolf,  they  could  not  only 
defend  themselves,  but  their  young. 

He  tried  to  breathe  a  sigh  of  relief  that  she 
had  gone  out  of  his  life  but — he  could  not.  It 
was  not  so  easy  to  shake  off  the  shadow  of  his 
responsibility.  He  followed  her  on  her  down 
ward  path  till  he  saw  her  stretching  out  her 
hands  in  pitiful  need  to  casual  acquaintances — 
alone  and  without  hope;  still  petite,  still  dainty 
in  spite  of  all,  still  with  flashes  of  wit,  and 
then 

He  shuddered.  "  O  my  God  !  Upon  whom 
does  the  burden  of  guilt  lie?" 

On  the  night  of  his  return  he  sat  among  his 
romping  babes  debating  whether  he  should  tell 
the  story  to  his  wife  or  not.  As  the  little  ones 
grew  weary,  the  noise  of  the  autumn  wind — the 
lonely,  woeful,  moaning  prairie  wind — came 
to  his  ears  and  he  shuddered.  His  wife  ob 
served  it. 

"  What  is  it,  Joe  ?     Did  you  get  a  chill  ?  " 


OF   THOSE    WHO   SEEK. 


247 


"  Oh,  no.  The  wind  sounds  a  little  lonesome 
to-night,  that's  all."  But  he  took  his  little  girl 
into  his  arms  and  held  her  close. 


IV.     THE    PASSING   STRANGER. 

THIS  was  the  story  the  mystic  told: 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  of  an  October 
night.  The  street  was  one  of  the  worst  of  the 
city,  but  it  was  Monday — one  of  its  quiet  nights. 

The  saloons  flared  floods  of  feverish  light 
upon  the  walk,  and  breathed  their  terrible 
odors,  like  caverns  leading  downward  into  hell. 
Restless,  loitering  crowds  moved  to  and  fro, 
with  rasping,  uncertain  footsteps,  out  of  which 
the  click  of  health  had  gone. 

Policemen  occasionally  showed  themselves 
menacingly,  and  the  crowd  responded  to  their 
impact  by  action  quickened,  like  a  python 
touched  with  a  red-hot  rod. 

It  was  nearly  time  to  close,  and  the  bar 
keepers  were  beginning  to  betray  signs  of  im 
patience  with  their  most  drunken  customers. 

A  dark,  tall  man  in  cloak  and  fez  moved 
slowly  down  the  street.  His  face  was  serene 
but  somber.  In  passing  the  window  of  a  bril 
liantly  lighted  drinking  place  he  stopped  and 
looked  in. 

In  the  small  stall,  near  the  window  and  be 
hind  the  counter,  sat  three  women  and  two  men. 
All  had  mugs  of  beer  in  their  hands.  The 


248  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

women  were  all  young,  and  one  of  them  was 
handsome.  They  were  dressed  nattily,  jauntily, 
in  modish,  girlish  hats,  and  their  dainty  jackets 
fitted  closely  to  their  slight  figures. 

Their  liquor  had  just  been  served,  and  their 
voices  were  ringing  with  wild  laughter.  Their 
white  teeth  shone  from  their  rouged  faces  with 
a  mirth  which  met  no  answering  smile  from  the 
strange  young  man  without.  He  stood  like  a 
shadow  against  the  pane. 

The  smile  on  the  face  of  the  youngest  girl 
stiffened  into  a  strange  contortion.  Her  eyes 
looked  straight  ahead  into  the  eyes  of  the 
stranger. 

Her  smile  smoothed  out.  Her  face  paled ; 
her  eyes  expanded  with  wonder  till  they  lost 
their  insane  glitter,  and  grew  sad  and  soft  and 
dark. 

"  What  is  it,  Nell  ?  "  the  others  asked. 

She  did  not  hear  them.  She  seemed  to  listen. 
Her  eyes  seemed  to  see  mountains — or  clouds. 
A  land  like  her  childhood's  home  with  the  sun 
set  light  over  it.  Her  mug  fell  with  a  crash  to 
the  table.  She  rose.  Her  hand  silenced  them, 
with  beautiful  finger  raised  : 

"  Listen  !  Don't  you  hear  him  ?  His  eyes 
are  calling  me.  It  is  Christ." 

The  others  looked,  but  they  saw  only  a  tall 
figure  moving  away.  He  wore  a  long  black 
cloak  like  a  priest. 

"  Some  foreign  duffer  lookin'  in.  Let  'im 
look,"  said  one  of  the  other  girls. 


OF   THOSE    WHO   SEEK. 


249 


"  One  o'  them  Egyptian  jugglers,"  said  an 
other. 

"  What's  the  matter  of  ye,  Nell  ?  You  look  as 
if  you'd  seen  a  ghost  of  y'r  grandmother.  Set 
down  an'  drink  y'r  beer." 

The  girl  brushed  her  hand  over  her  eyes. 
"  I'm  going  home,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice  from 
which  all  individuality  had  passed.  Her  face 
seemed  anxious,  her  manner  hurried. 

"What's  the  matter,  Nell  ?  My  God  !  Look 
at  her  eyes! — I'm  going  with  her." 

The  girl  put  him  aside  with  a  gesture.  Her 
look  awed  him. 

One  of  the  others  began  to  laugh. 

"Stop!  You  fool,"  one  of  the  girls  cried. 
They  sat  in  silence  as  the  younger  girl  went  out, 
putting  aside  every  hand  stretched  out  to  touch 
her.  She  walked  like  one  in  stupor — her  face 
ghastly.  The  arch  of  her  beautiful  eyebrows 
was  like  that  of  Ophelia  in  her  bitterest  mo 
ment. 

The  others  watched  her  go  in  silence. 

One  of  them  drew  a  sigh  and  said :  "  I'm 
going  home,  too;  I  don't  feel  well." 

"  I'll  go  with  ye,"  one  of  the  men  said. 

"Stay  where  you  are  !  "  said  the  girl  sharply. 

Once  on  the  street,  the  younger  girl  hurried 
on  the  way  the  stranger  had  gone.  His  face 
seemed  before  her. 

She  could  see  it ;  she  should  always  see  it. 
It  was  the  face  of  a  young  man.  A  firm  chin,  a 
17 


250 


WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 


strong  mouth  with  a  feminine  curve  in  it,  a  face 
with  a  clear  pallor  that  seemed  foreign  somehow. 
But  the  eyes — oh,  the  eyes  ! 

They  were  deep  and  brown,  and  filled  with 
an  infinite  sadness — for  her.  She  felt  it,  and  the 
knot  of  pain  in  the  forehead,  that  was  also  for 
her.  Something  sweet  and  terrible  went  out 
from  his  presence.  A  knowledge  of  infinite 
space  and  infinite  time  and  infinite  compas 
sion. 

No  man  had  ever  looked  at  her  like  that. 
There  was  something  divine  in  the  penetrating 
power  of  his  eyes. 

Some  way  she  knew  he  was  not  a  priest, 
though  his  cloak  and  turban  cap  looked  like 
it.  He  seemed  like  a  scholar  from  some  strange 
land — a  man  above  passion,  a  man  who  knew 
God. 

His  eyes  accused  her  and  pitied  her,  while 
they  called  her. 

No  smile,  no  shrinking  of  lips  into  a  sneer — 
nothing  but  pity  and  wonder,  and  something 
else— 

And  a  voice  seemed  to  say:  "You  are  too 
good  to  be  there.  Follow  me." 

As  she  thought  of  him  he  seemed  to  stand  on 
an  immeasurable  height  looking  down  at  her. 

She  had  laughed  at  him— O  God  !  —  she 
flushed  hot  with  shame  from  head  to  foot — but 
his  eyes  had  not  changed.  His  lips  had  kept 
their  pitying  droop,  and  his  somber  eyes  had 
burned  deep  into  the  sacred  places  of  her 


OF   THOSE    WHO   SEEK. 


251 


thought,    where    something    sweet    and    girlish 
lay,  unwasted  and  untrampled. 
"  He  called  me.     He  called  me." 

Under  the  trees  where  the  moonlight  threw 
tracing  of  shadows  she  came  upon  him  standing, 
waiting  for  her.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  him 
like  a  babe.  He  was  taller  than  she  thought. 

He  took  her  hands  silently  and  she  grew 
calm  at  once.  All  shame  left  her.  She  forgot 
her  city  life ;  she  remembered  only  the  sweet, 
merry  life  of  the  village  where  she  was  born. 
The  sound  of  sleigh  bells  and  song,  and  the  lisp 
of  wind  in  the  grass,  and  songs  of  birds  in  the 
maples  came  to  her. 

His  voice  began  softly : 

"  You  are  too  good  and  sweet  to  be  so  devoured 
of  beasts.  In  your  little  Northern  home  they 
are  waiting  for  you.  To-morrow  you  will  go 
back  to  them." 

He  placed  his  hand,  which  was  soft  and  warm 
and  broad,  over  her  eyes.  His  voice  was  like 
velvet,  soft  yet  elastic. 

14  When  you  wake  you  will  hate  what  you  have 
been.  No  power  can  keep  you  here.  You  will 
go  back  to  the  simple  life  from  which  you  should 
never  have  departed.  You  will  love  simple 
things  and  the  pleasures  of  your  native  place." 

Her  face  was  turned  upward,  but  her  eyelids 
had  fallen. 

"  When  you  wake  you  will  not  remember 
your  life  here.  You  will  be  a  girl  again,  un- 


252  WAYSIDE   CO UR T 'SHIPS. 

stained  and  ready  to  begin  life  without  remorse 
and  without  accusing  memory.  When  I  leave 
you  at  your  door  to-night,  you  will  belong  to 
the  kingdom  of  good  and  not  to  the  kingdom 
of  evil." 

He  dropped  her  hands  and  pointed  across  the 
park. 

"  Now  go  to  that  gray  house.  Ring  the  bell, 
and  you  will  be  housed  for  the  night.  Remem 
ber  you  are  mine.  When  the  bell  rings  you  will 
1  wake.'  " 

She  moved  away  without  looking  back — 
moved  mechanically  like  one  still  in  sleep. 

The  man  watched  her  until  the  door  opened 
and  admitted  her  ;  then  he  passed  on  into  the 
shadow  of  the  narrow  street. 

And  this  the  listener  gravely  asked : 

"  One  was  chosen,  the  other  left.  Were  the  others 
less  in  need  of  grace?  " 


BEFORE  THE  LOW  GREEN  DOOR. 

MATILDA  BENT  was  dying ;  there  was  no 
doubt  of  that  now,  if  there  had  been  before. 
The  gruff  old  physician — one  of  the  many  over 
worked  and  underpaid  country  doctors — shook 
his  head  and  pushed  by  Joe  Bent,  her  husband, 
as  he  passed  through  the  room  which  served  as 
dining  room,  sitting  room,  and  parlor.  The  poor 
fellow  slouched  back  to  his  chair  by  the  stove 
as  if  dazed,  and  before  he  could  speak  again  the 
doctor  was  gone. 

Mrs.  Ridings  was  just  coming  up  the  walk  as 
the  doctor  stepped  out  of  the  door. 

"O  doctor,  how  is  she?" 

"  She  is  a  dying  woman,  madam." 

"Oh!  don't  say  that,  doctor.  What's  the 
matter  ? " 

"  Cancer." 

"  Then  the  news  was  true " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  of  the  news,  Mrs. 
Ridings,  but  Mrs.  Bent  is  dying  from  the  effects 
of  a  cancer  primarily,  which  she  has  had  for 
years — since  her  last  child,  which  died  in  infancy, 
you  remember." 


254  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

"  But,  doctor,  she  never  told  me " 

"  Neither  did  she  tell  me.  But  no  matter  now. 
I  have  done  all  I  can  for  her.  If  you  can  make 
death  any  easier  for  her,  go  and  do  it.  You  will 
find  some  opiate  powders  there  with  directions. 
Keep  the  pain  down  at  all  hazards.  Don't  let 
her  suffer;  that  is  useless.  She  is  likely  to  last 
a  day  or  two — but  if  any  change  comes  to-night, 
send  for  me." 

When  the  good  matron  entered  the  dowdy, 
suffocating  little  room  where  Matilda  Bent  lay 
gasping  for  breath,  she  was  sick  for  a  moment 
with  sympathetic  pain.  There  the  dying  woman 
lay,  her  world  narrowed  to  four  close  walls, 
propped  up  on  the  pillows  near  the  one  little 
window.  Her  eyes  seemed  very  large  and  bright, 
and  the  brow,  made  prominent  by  the  sinking 
away  of  the  cheeks,  gave  evidence  that  it  was 
an  uncommon  woman  who  lay  there  quietly  wait 
ing  the  death  angel. 

She  smiled,  and  lifted  her  eyebrows  in  a 
ghastly  way. 

"  O  Marthy  !  "  she  breathed. 

"  Matildy,  I  didn't  know  you  was  so  bad,  or 
I'd  'a'  come  before.  Why  didn't  you  let  me 
know?"  said  Mrs.  Ridings,  kneeling  by  the  bed 
and  taking  the  ghostly  hands  of  the  sufferer  in 
her  own  warm  and  soft  palms.  She  shuddered 
as  she  kissed  the  thin  lips. 

"  I  think  you'll  soon  be  around  agin,"  she  add 
ed,  in  the  customary  mockery  of  an  attempt  at 
cheer.  The  other  woman  started  slightly,  turned 


BEFORE    THE  LOW  GREEN  DOOR.      255 

her  head,  and  gazed  on  her  old  friend  long  and 
intently.  The  hollowness  of  her  neighbor's 
words  stung  her. 

"  I  hope  not,  Marthy — I'm  ready  to  go.  I 
want  to  go.  I  don't  care  to  live." 

The  two  women  communed  by  looking  for  a 
long  time  in  each  other's  eyes,  as  if  to  get  at  the 
very  secretest  desires  and  hopes  of  the  heart. 
Tears  fell  from  Martha's  eyes  upon  the  cold 
and  nerveless  hands  of  her  friend — poor,  faith 
ful  hands,  hacked  and  knotted  and  worn  by 
thirty  years  of  ceaseless  daily  toil.  They  lay 
there  motionless  upon  the  coverlet,  pathetic  pro 
test  for  all  the  world  to  see. 

**  O  Matildy,  I  wish  I  could  do  something  for 
you !  I  want  to  help  you  so.  I  feel  so  bad 
that  I  didn't  come  before.  Ain't  they  some- 
thin'?" 

"Yes,  Marthy— jest  set  there— till  I  die — it 
won't  be  long,"  whispered  the  pale  lips.  The 
sufferer,  as  usual,  was  calmer  than  her  visitor, 
and  her  eyes  were  thoughtful. 

"  I  will !  I  will !  But  oh  !  must  you  go  ? 
Can't  somethin'  be  done.  Don't  yo'  want  the 
minister  to  be  sent  for  ?  " 

"No,  I'm  all  ready.  I  ain't  afraid  to  die.  I 
ain't  worth  savin'  now.  O  Marthy  !  I  never 
thought  I'd  come  to  this — did  you  ?  I  never 
thought  I'd  die — so  early  in  life — and  die — un 
satisfied." 

She  lifted  her  head  a  little  as  she  gasped  out 
these  words  with  an  intensity  of  utterance  that 


256  WA  YSIDE   CO  UR  T SHIPS. 

thrilled  her  hearer  —  a  powerful,  penetrating 
earnestness  that  burned  like  fire. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  ?  "  pursued  the  steady  lips. 
"  My  life's  a  failure,  Marthy — I've  known  it  all 
along — all  but  my  children.  O  Marthy,  what'll 
become  o'  them  ?  This  is  a  hard  world." 

The  amazed  Martha  could  only  chafe  the 
hands,  and  note  sorrowfully  the  frightful 
changes  in  the  face  of  her  friend.  The  weird 
ly  calm,  slow  voice  began  to  shake  a  little. 

"  I'm  dyin',  Marthy,  without  ever  gittin'  to 
the  sunny  place  we  girls — used  to  think — we'd 
git  to,  by  an'  by.  I've  been  a-gittin'  deeper  V 
deeper — in  the  shade — till  it's  most  dark.  They 
ain't  been  no  rest — n'r  hope  f'r  me,  Marthy — 
none.  I  ain't " 

"There,  there!  Tillie,  don't  talk  so— don't, 
dear.  Try  to  think  how  bright  it'll  be  over 
there " 

"  I  don't  know  nawthin'  about  over  there  ; 
I'm  talkin'  about  here.  I  ain't  had  no  chance 
here,  Marthy." 

"  He  will  heal  all  your  care " 

"  He  can't  wipe  out  my  sufferin's  here." 

"Yes,  He  can,  and  He  will.  He  can  wipe 
away  every  tear  and  heal  every  wound." 

«  No — he — can't.  God  himself  can't  wipe 
out  what  has  been.  O  Mattie,  if  I  was  only 
there  ! — in  the  past — if  I  was  only  young  and 
purty  agin !  You  know  how  tall  I  was  !  how 
we  used  to  run — O  Mattie,  if  I  was  only  there  ! 
The  world  was  all  bright  then — wasn't  it  ?  We 


BEFORE    THE  LOW  GREEN  DOOR. 


257 


didn't  expect — to  work  all  our  days.  Life  looked 
like  a  meadow,  full  of  daisies  and  pinks,  and  the 
nicest  ones  and  the  sweetest  birds  was  just  a 
little  ways  on — where  the  sun  was — it  didn't  look 
— wasn't  we  happy  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes,  dear.  But  you  mustn't  talk  so 
much."  The  good  woman  thought  Matilda's 
mind  was  wandering.  "  Don't  you  want  some 
med'cine  ?  Ain't  your  fever  risin'  ?  " 

"But  the  daisies  and  pinks  all  turned  to 
weeds,"  she  went  on,  waiting  a  little,  "  when 
we  picked  'em.  An'  the  sunny  place — has  been 
always  behind  me,  and  the  dark  before  me. 
Oh !  if  I  was  only  there — in  the  sun — where  the 
pinks  and  daisies  are!  " 

"You  mustn't  talk  so,  Mattie !  Think  about 
your  children.  You  ain't  sorry  y'  had  them. 
They've  been  a  comfort  to  y'.  You  ain't  sorry 
you  had  'em." 

"  I  ain't  glad,"  was  the  unhesitating  reply  of 
the  failing  woman  ;  and  then  she  went  on,  in 
growing  excitement :  "  They'll  haf  to  grow  old 
jest  as  I  have  —  git  bent  and  gray,  an'  die. 
They  ain't  ben  much  comfort  to  me ;  the  boys 
are  like  their  father,  and  Julyie's  weak.  They 
ain't  no  happiness — for  such  as  me  and  them." 

She  paused  for  breath,  and  Mrs.  Ridings, 
not  knowing  what  to  say,  did  better  than  speak. 
She  fell  to  stroking  the  poor  face,  and  the  hands 
getting  more  restless  each  moment.  It  was  as 
if  Matilda  Fletcher  had  been  silent  so  long,  had 
borne  so  much  without  complaint,  that  now  it 


258  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

burst  from  her  in  a  torrent  not  to  be  stayed. 
All  her  most  secret  doubts  and  her  sweetest 
hopes  seemed  trembling  on  her  lips  or  surging 
in  her  brain,  racking  her  poor,  emaciated  frame 
for  utterance.  Now  that  death  was  sure,  she 
was  determined  to  rid  her  bosom  of  its  perilous 
stuff.  Martha  was  appalled. 

"  I  used  to  think — that  when  I  got  married 
I'd  be  perfectly  happy — but  I  never  have  been 
happy  sence.  It  was  the  beginning  of  trouble 
to  me.  I  never  found  things  better  than  they 
looked ;  they  was  always  worse.  I've  gone 
further  an'  further  from  the  sunshiny  meadow, 
an'  the  birds  an'  flowers — and  I'll  never  git 
back  to  'em  again,  never !  "  She  ended  with  a 
sob  and  a  low  wail. 

Her  face  was  horrifying  with  its  intensity  of 
pathetic  regret.  Her  straining,  wide-open  eyes 
seemed  to  be  seeing  those  sunny  spots  in  the 
meadow. 

"  Mattie,  sometimes  when  I'm  asleep  I  think 
I  am  back  there  ag'in — and  you  girls  are  there 
— an'  we're  pullin'  off  the  leaves  of  the  wild 
sunflower — '  rich  man,  poor  man,  beggar  man  ' — 
and  I  hear  you  all  laugh  when  I  pull  off  the  last 
leaf ;  an'  when  I  come  to  myself — and  I'm  an 
old,  dried-up  woman,  dyin'  unsatisfied !  " 

"  I've  felt  that  way  a  little  myself,  Matildy," 
confessed  the  watcher  in  a  scared  whisper. 

"  I  knew  it,  Mattie;  I  knew  you'd  know  how 
I  felt.  Things  have  been  better  for  you.  You 
ain't  had  to  live  in  an  old  log  house  all  your 


BEFORE    THE  LOW  GREEN  DOOR.      259 

life,  an'  work  yourself  to  skin  an'  bone  for  a 
man  you  don't  respect  nor  like." 

"Matildy  Bent,  take  that  back  !  Take  it 
back,  for  mercy  sake !  Don't  you  dare  die 
thinkin'  that — don't  you  dare  !  " 

Bent,  hearing  her  voice  rising,  came  to  the 
door,  and  the  wife,  knowing  his  step,  cried  : 

"  Don't  let  him  in !  Don't !  I  can't  bear 
him — keep  him  out ;  I  don't  want  to  see  him 
ag'in." 

"  Who  do  you  mean  ?     Not  Joe  ?  " 

"Yes.     Him." 

Had  the  dying  woman  confessed  to  murder, 
good  Martha  could  not  have  been  more  shocked. 
She  could  not  understand  this  terrible  revulsion 
in  feeling,  for  she  herself  had  been  absolutely 
loyal  to  her  husband  through  all  the  trials  which 
had  come  upon  them. 

But  she  met  Bent  at' the  threshold,  and,  clos 
ing  the  door,  went  out  with  him  into  the  summer 
kitchen,  where  the  rest  of  the  family  were  sit 
ing.  A  gloomy  silence  fell  on  them  all  after  the 
greetings  were  over.  The  men  were  smoking  ; 
all  were  seated  in  chairs  tipped  back  against 
the  wall.  Joe  Bent,  a  smallish  man,  with  a 
weak,  good-natured  face,  asked  in  a  hoarse 
whisper  : 

"How  is  she,  Mis'  Ridings?" 

"  She  seems  quite  strong,  Mr.  Bent.  I  think 
you  had  all  better  go  to  bed ;  if  I  want  you  I 
can  call  you.  Doctor  give  me  directions." 

"  All   right,"    responded    the    relieved   man. 


260  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

"  I'll  sleep  on  the  lounge  in  the  other  room. 
If  you  want  me,  just  rap  on  the  door." 

When,  after  making  other  arrangements, 
Martha  went  back  to  the  bedroom,  she  was 
startled  to  hear  the  sick  woman  muttering  to 
herself,  or  perhaps  because  she  had  forgotten 
Martha's  absence. 

"  But  the  shadows  on  the  meadow  didn't  stay  ; 
they  passed  on,  and  then  the  sun  was  all  the 
brighter  on  the  flowers.  We  used  to  string 
sweet-williams  on  spears  of  grass — don't  you 
remember  ?  " 

Martha  gave  her  a  drink  of  the  opiate  in  the 
glass,  adjusted  her  on  the  pillow,  and  threw 
open  the  window,  even  to  the  point  of  remov 
ing  the  screen,  and  the  gibbous  moon  flooded 
the  room  with  light.  She  did  not  light  a  lamp, 
for  its  flame  would  heat  the  room.  Besides,  the 
moonlight  was  sufficient.  It  fell  on  the  face  of 
the  sick  woman,  till  she  looked  like  a  thing  of 
marble — all  but  her  dark  eyes. 

"  Does  the  moon  hurt  you,  Tilly  ?  Shall  I 
put  down  the  curtain  ?" 

The  woman  heard  with  difficulty,  and  when 
the  question  was  repeated  said  slowly  : 

"  No,  I  like  it."  After  a  little—"  Don't  you 
remember,  Mattie  '  how  beautiful  the  moon 
light  seemed  ?  It  seemed  to  promise  happiness 
— and  love — but  it  never  come  for  us.  It  makes 
me  dream  of  the  past  now — just  as  it  did  o' 
future  then  ;  an'  the  whip-poor-wills  too " 

The  night  was   perfectly   beautiful,   such  a 


BEFORE    THE  LOW  GREEN  DOOR.      261 

night  as  makes  dying  an  infinite  sorrow.  The 
summer  was  at  its  liberalest.  Innumerable  in 
sects  of  the  nocturnal  sort  were  singing  in  unison 
with  the  frogs  in  the  pools.  A  whip-poor-will 
called,  and  its  neighbor  answered  it  like  an  echo. 
The  leaves  of  the  trees,  glossy  from  the  late 
rain,  moved  musically  to  the  light  west  wind, 
and  the  exquisite  perfume  of  many  flowers  came 
in  on  the  breeze. 

When  the  failing  woman  sank  into  silence, 
Martha  leaned  her  elbow  on  the  window  sill, 
and,  gazing  far  into  the  great  deeps  of  space, 
gave  herself  up  to  unwonted  musings  upon  the 
problems  of  human  life.  She  sighed  deeply  at 
times.  She  found  herself  at  moments  in  the 
almost  terrifying  position  of  a  human  soul  in 
space.  Not  a  wife,  not  a  mother,  but  just  a  soul 
facing  the  questions  which  harass  philosophers. 
As  she  realized  her  condition  of  mind  she  appre 
hended  something  of  the  thinking  of  the  woman 
on  the  bed.  Matilda  had  gone  beyond  or  far 
back  of  the  wife  and  mother. 

The  hours  wore  on ;  the  dying  woman  stirred 
uneasily  now  and  then,  whispering  a  word  or 
phrase  which  related  to  her  girlhood — never  to 
her  later  life.  Once  she  said  : 

"  Mother,  hold  me.     I'm  so  tired." 

Martha  took  the  thin  form  in  her  arms,  and, 
laying  her  head  close  beside  the  sunken  cheek, 
sang,  in  half  breath,  a  lullaby  till  the  sufferer 
grew  quiet  again. 

The  eastern  moon    passed   over   the   house, 


262  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

leaving  the  room  dark,  and  still  the  patient 
watcher  sat  beside  the  bed,  listening  to  the 
slow  breathing  of  the  dying  one.  The  cool 
air  grew  almost  chill ;  the  east  began  to  lighten, 
and  with  the  coming  light  the  tide  of  life  sank 
in  the  dying  body.  The  head,  hitherto  restless 
ly  turning,  ceased  to  move.  The  eyes  grew 
quiet  and  began  to  soften  like  a  sleeper's. 

"How  are  you  now,  dear?"  asked  the 
watcher  several  times,  bending  over  the  bed,  and 
bathing  back  the  straying  hair. 

"  I'm  tired — tired,  mother — turn  me,"  she 
murmured  drowsily,  with  heavy  lids  drooping. 

Martha  adjusted  the  pillows  again,  and 
turned  the  face  to  the  wall.  The  poor,  tor 
tured,  restless  brain  slowly  stopped  its  grinding 
whirl,  and  the  thin  limbs,  heavy  with  years  of 
hopeless  toil,  straightened  out  in  an  endless 
sleep. 

Matilda  Fletcher  had  found  rest. 


UPON   IMPULSE. 

THE  seminary  buildings  stood  not  far  from 
the  low,  lodgelike  railway  station,  and  a  path 
led  through  a  gap  in  the  fence  across  the 
meadow.  People  were  soberly  converging  to 
ward  its  central  building,  as  if  proceeding  to 
church. 

Among  the  people  who  alighted  from  the 
two  o'clock  train  were  Professor  Blakesly  and 
his  wife  and  a  tall,  dark  man  whom  they  called 
Ware. 

Mrs.  Blakesly  was  plump  and  pretty,  plainly 
the  mother  of  two  or  three  children  and  the 
sovereign  of  a  modest  suburban  cottage. 
Blakesly  was  as  evidently  a  teacher ;  even  the 
casual  glances  of  the  other  visitors  might  dis 
cover  the  character  of  these  people. 

Ware  was  not  so  easy  to  be  read.  His  face 
was  lean  and  brown,  and  his  squarely  clipped 
mustache  gave  him  a  stern  look.  His  body  was 
well  rounded  with  muscle,  and  he  walked  alertly  ; 
his  manner  was  direct  and  vigorous,  manifestly 
of  the  open  air. 

As  they  entered  the  meadow  he  paused  and 


264  WAYSIDE    COURTSHIPS. 

said  with  humorous  irresolution,  "  I  don't  know 
what  I  am  out  here  for." 

"  To  see  the  pretty  girls,  of  course,"  said 
Mrs.  Blakesly. 

"  They  may  be  plain,  after  all,"  he  said. 

"  They're  always  pretty  at  graduation  time 
and  at  marriage,"  Blakesly  interpreted. 

"  Then  there's  the  ice  cream  and  cake,"  Mrs. 
Blakesly  added. 

"Where  do  all  these  people  come  from?" 
Ware  asked,  looking  about.  "  It's  all  farm  land 
here." 

"They  are  the  fathers,  mothers,  and  brothers 
of  the  seminary  girls.  They  come  from  every 
where.  See  the  dear  creatures  about  the  door! 
Let's  hurry  along." 

"  They  do  not  interest  me.  I  take  off  my 
hat  to  the  beauty  of  the  day,  however." 

Ware  had  evidently  come  under  protest,  for 
he  lingered  in  the  daisied  grass  which  was  dap 
pled  with  shadows  and  tinkling  with  bobolinks 
and  catbirds. 

A  broad  path  led  up  to  the  central  building, 
whose  double  doors  were  swung  wide  with  most 
hospitable  intent.  Ware  ascended  the  steps  be 
hind  his  friends,  a  bored  look  on  his  dark  face. 

Two  rows  of  flushed,  excited  girls  with  two 
teachers  at  their  head  stood  flanking  the  door 
way  to  receive  the  visitors,  who  streamed  stead 
ily  into  the  wide,  cool  hall. 

Mrs.  Blakesly  took  Ware  in  hand.  "  Mr. 
Ware,  this  is  Miss  Powell.  Miss  Powell,  this 


UPON  IMPULSE.  265 

is  Mr.  Jenkin  Ware,  lawyer  and  friend  to  the 
Blakeslys." 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  a  cool  voice, 
in  which  gladness  was  entirely  absent. 

Ware  turned  to  shake  hands  mechanically, 
but  something  in  the  steady  eyes  and  clasp  of 
the  hand  held  out  turned  his  listless  manner 
into  surprise  and  confusion.  He  stared  at  her 
without  speaking,  only  for  a  second,  and  yet  so 
long  she  colored  and  withdrew  her  hand  sharply. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  didn't  get  the  name." 

"  Miss  Powell,"  answered  Mrs.  Blakesly,  who 
had  certainly  missed  this  little  comedy,  which 
would  have  been  so  delicious  to  her. 

Ware  moved  on,  shaking  hands  with  the 
other  teachers  and  bowing  to  the  girls.  He 
seized  an  early  moment  to  turn  and  look  back 
at  Miss  Powell.  His  listless  indifference  was 
gone.  She  was  a  fine  figure  of  a  woman — a 
strong,  lithe  figure,  dressed  in  a  well-ordered, 
light-colored  gown.  Her  head  was  girlish,  with 
a  fluff  of  brown  hair  knotted  low  at  the  back. 
Her  profile  was  magnificent.  The  head  had  the 
intellectual  poise,  but  the  proud  bosom  and 
strong  body  added  another  quality.  "  She  is  a 
modern  type,"  Ware  said,  remembering  a  paint 
ing  of  such  a  head  he  had  seen  in  a  recent  ex 
hibition. 

As  he  studied  her  she  turned  and  caught  him 
looking,  and  he  felt  again  a  curious  fluttering 
rush  at  his  heart.     He  fancied  she  flushed  a  little 
deeper  as  she  turned  away. 
18 


266  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

As  for  him,  it  had  been  a  very  long  while 
since  he  had  felt  that  singular  weakness  in  the 
presence  of  a  young  woman.  He  walked  on, 
trying  to  account  for  it.  It  made  him  feel  very 
boyish.  He  had  a  furtive  desire  to  remain  in 
the  hall  where  he  could  watch  her,  and  when  he 
passed  up  the  stairs,  it  was  with  a  distinct  feel 
ing  of  melancholy,  as  if  he  were  leaving  some 
thing  very  dear  and  leaving  it  forever. 

He  wondered  where  this  feeling  came  from, 
and  he  looked  into  the  upturned  faces  of  the 
girls  as  if  they  were  pansies.  He  wandered 
about  the  rooms  with  the  Blakeslys,  being 
bored  by  introductions,  until  at  last  Miss 
Powell  came  up  the  stairway  with  the  last  of 
the  guests. 

While  the  girls  sang  and  went  through  some 
pretty  drills  Ware  again  studied  Miss  Powell. 
Her  appeal  to  his  imagination  was  startling. 
He  searched  for  the  cause  of  it.  It  could  not 
be  in  her  beauty.  Certainly  she  was  fine  and 
womanly  and  of  splendid  physique,  but  all  about 
her  were  lovely  girls  of  daintier  flesh  and  warmer 
color.  He  reasoned  that  her  power  was  in  her 
eyes,  steady,  frank  as  sunlight,  clear  as  water  in 
a  mountain  brook.  She  seemed  unconscious  of 
his  scrutiny. 

At  last  they  began  moving  down  the  stairs 
and  on  to  the  other  buildings.  Ware  and 
Blakesly  waited  for  the  ladies  to  come  down. 
And  when  they  came  they  were  in  the  midst  of 
a  flood  of  girls,  and  Ware  had  no  chance  to 


UPON  IMPULSE.  267 

speak  to  them.  As  they  moved  across  the  grass 
he  fell  in  behind  Mrs.  Blakesly,  who  seemed  to 
be  telling  secrets  to  Miss  Powell,  who  flushed 
and  shook  her  head. 

Mrs.  Blakesly  turned  and  saw  Ware  close  be 
hind  her,  and  said,  "  O  Mr.  Ware,  where  is  my 
dear,  dear  husband  ?  " 

"  Back  in  the  swirl,"  Ware  replied. 

Mrs.  Blakesly  artfully  dropped  Miss  Powell's 
arm  and  fell  back.  "  I  must  not  desert  the 
poor  dear."  As  she  passed  Ware  she  said, 
"Take  my  place." 

"With  pleasure,"  he  replied,  and  walked  on 
after  Miss  Powell,  who  seemed  not  to  care  to 
wait. 

How  simply  she  was  dressed  !  She  moved 
like  an  athlete,  without  effort  and  without  con 
straint.  As  he  walked  quickly  to  overtake  her 
a  finer  light  fell  over  the  hills  and  a  fresher 
green  came  into  the  grass.  The  daisies  nodding 
in  the  wind  blurred  together  in  a  dance  of 
light  and  loveliness  which  moved  him  like  a 
song. 

"  How  beautiful  everything  is  to-day  !  "  he 
said,  as  he  stepped  to  her  side.  He  felt  as  if  he 
had  said,  "  How  beautiful  you  are  !  " 

She  flashed  a  quick,  inquiring  glance  at 
him. 

"  Yes  ;  June  can  be  beautiful  with  us.  Still, 
there  is  a  beauty  more  mature,  when  the  sickle 
is  about  to  be  thrust  into  the  grain." 

He  did   not   hear  what   she  said.      He   was 


268  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

thinking  of  the  power  that  lay  in  the  oval  of 
her  face,  in  the  fluffy  tangle  of  her  hair.  Ah  ! 
now  he  knew.  With  that  upward  glance  she 
brought  back  his  boy  love,  his  teacher  whom 
he  had  worshiped  as  boys  sometimes  will,  with 
a  love  as  pure  as  winter  starlight.  Yes,  now  it 
was  clear.  There  was  the  same  flex  of  the 
splendid  waist,  the  same  slow  lift  of  the  head, 
and  steady,  beautiful  eyes. 

As  she  talked,  he  was  a  youth  of  seventeen, 
he  was  lying  at  his  teacher's  feet  by  the  river 
while  she  read  wonderful  love  stories.  There 
were  others  there,  but  they  did  not  count.  Then 
the  tears  blurred  his  eyes  ;  he  remembered  walk 
ing  behind  her  dead  body  as  it  was  borne  to  the 
hillside  burying  ground,  and  all  the  world  was 
desolate  for  him. 

He  became  aware  that  Miss  Powell  was  look 
ing  at  him  with  startled  eyes.  He  hastened  to 
apologize  and  explain.  "  Pardon  me  ;  you  look 
so  much  like  a  schoolboy  idol — I — I  seem  to  see 
her  again.  I  didn't  hear  what  you  said,  you 
brought  the  past  back  so  poignantly." 

There  was  something  in  his  voice  which 
touched  her,  but  before  he  could  go  on  they 
were  joined  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blakesly  and  one 
of  the  other  teachers.  There  was  a  dancing 
light  in  Mrs.  Blakesly's  eyes  as  she  looked  at 
Ware.  She  had  just  been  saying  to  her  hus 
band:  "What  a  splendid  figure  Miss  Powell  is! 
How  well  they  look  together  !  Wouldn't  it  be 
splendid  if " 


UPON  IMPULSE.  269 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  you're  too  bad.  Please  don't 
match-make  any  more  to-day.  Let  Nature  at 
tend  to  these  things,"  Mr.  Blakesly  replied  with 
manifest  impatience ;  "  Nature  attended  to  our 
case." 

"  I  have  no  faith  in  Nature  any  more.  I 
want  to  have  at  least  a  finger  in  the  pie  myself. 
Nature  don't  work  in  all  cases.  I'm  afraid  Na 
ture  can't  in  his  case." 

"  Careful !     He'll  hear  you,  my  dear." 

"  Where  do  we  go  now,  Miss  Powell  ?  "  asked 
Blakesly  as  they  came  to  a  halt  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  campus. 

"  I  think  they  are  all  going  to  the  gymnasium 
building.  Won't  you  come  ?  That  is  my  do 
minion." 

They  answered  by  moving  off,  Mrs.  Blakesly 
taking  Miss  Powell's  arm.  As  they  streamed 
away  in  files  she  said  :  "  Isn't  he  good-looking  ? 
We've  known  him  for  years.  He's  all  right," 
she  said  significantly,  and  squeezed  Miss  Powell's 
arm. 

"Well,  Lou  Blakesly,  you're  the  same  old 
irrepressible !  " 

"Blushing  already,  you  dear!  I  tell  you 
he's  splendid.  I  wish  he'd  take  to  you," 
and  she  gave  Miss  Powell  another  squeeze. 
**  It  would  be  such  a  match  !  Brains  and  beauty, 
too." 

"  Oh,  hush  !  " 

They  entered  the  cool,  wide  hall  of  the  gym 
nasium,  with  its  red  brick  walls,  its  polished  floor, 


2/0  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

and  the  yellow-red   wooden   beams    lining   the 
ceiling. 

There  were  only  a  few  people  remaining  in 
the  hall,  most  of  them  having  passed  on  into  the 
museum.  As  they  came  to  the  various  appli 
ances,  Miss  Powell  explained  them. 

"  What  are  these  things  for  ? "  inquired  Mrs. 
Blakesly,  pointing  at  the  row  of  iron  rings  de 
pending  from  long  ropes. 

"  They  are  for  swinging  on,"  and  she  leaped 
lightly  upward  and  caught  and  swung  by  one 
hand. 

"  Mercy  !     Do  you  do  that  ?  " 

"  She  seems  to  be  doing  it  now,"  Blakesly  said. 

"  I  am  one  of  the  teachers,"  Miss  Powell  re 
plied,  dropping  to  the  floor. 

It  was  glorious  to  see  how  easily  she  seized 
a  heavy  dumb-bell  and  swung  it  above  her  head. 
The  front  line  of  her  body  was  majestic  as  she 
stood  thus. 

"Gracious!  I  couldn't  do  that,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Blakesly. 

"  No,  not  with  your  style  of  dress,"  replied 
her  husband. — "  I  have  to  pin  her  hat  on  this 
year,"  he  said  to  Ware. 

"I  love  it,"  said  Miss  Powell,  as  she  drew  a 
heavy  weight  from  the  floor  and  stood  with  the 
cord  across  her  shoulder.  "  It  adds  so  much  to 
life  !  It  gives  what  Browning  calls  the  wild  joy 
of  living.  Do  you  know,  few  women  know  what 
that  means  ?  It's  been  denied  us.  Only  the 
men  have  known 


UPON  IMPULSE.  271 

"  '  The  wild  joys  of  living  !  the  leaping  from  rock 

up  to  rock) 
The  strong  rending  of  boughs  from  the  fir  treey 

the  cool  silver  shock 
Of  a  plunge  in  the  pool's  living  water.' 

I  try  to  teach  my  girls  '  How  good  is  man's  life, 
the  mere  living! ' ' 

The  men  cheered  as  she  paused  for  a  moment 
flushed  and  breathless. 

She  went  on  :  "  We  women  have  been  shut 
out  from  the  sports  too  long — I  mean  sports  in 
the  sun.  The  men  have  had  the  best  of  it.  All 
the  swimming,  all  the  boating,  wheeling,  all  the 
grand,  wild  life ;  now  we're  going  to  have  a 
part." 

The  young  ladies  clustered  about  with 
flushed,  excited  faces  while  their  teacher  plant 
ed  her  flag  and  claimed  new  territory  for 
women. 

Miss  Powell  herself  grew  conscious,  and 
flushed  and  paused  abruptly. 

Mrs.  Blakesly  effervesced  in  admiring  aston 
ishment.  "  Well,  well !  I  didn't  know  you  could 
make  a  speech." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  do  so,"  she  replied. 

"  Go  on  !  Go  on  !  "  everybody  called  out, 
but  she  turned  away  to  show  some  other  ap 
paratus. 

"Wasn't  she  fine  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blakesly 
to  Ware. 

"  Beyond  praise,"  he  replied.     She  went  at 


2/2  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

once  to  communicate  her  morsel  of  news  to  her 
husband,  and  at  length  to  Miss  Powell. 

The  company  passed  out  into  other  rooms 
until  no  one  was  left  but  Mrs.  Blakesly,  the 
professor,  and  Ware.  Miss  Powell  was  talking 
again,  and  to  Ware  mainly.  Ware  was  thought 
ful,  Miss  Powell  radiant. 

u  I  didn't  know  what  life  was  till  I  could  do 
that."  She  took  up  a  large  dumb-bell  and,  ex 
tending  it  at  arm's  length,  whirled  it  back  and 
forth.  Her  forearm,  white  and  smooth,  swelled 
into  strong  action,  and  her  supple  hands  had  the 
unwavering  power  and  pressure  of  an  athlete, 
and  withal  Ware  thought :  "  She  is  feminine. 
Her  physical  power  has  not  coarsened  her;  it 
has  enlarged  her  life,  but  left  her  entirely 
womanly." 

In  some  adroit  way  Mrs.  Blakesly  got  her 
husband  out  of  the  room  and  left  Ware  and 
Miss  Powell  together.  She  was  showing  him 
the  view  from  the  windows,  and  they  seemed  to 
be  perfectly  absorbed.  She  looked  around  once 
and  saw  that  Mrs.  Blakesly  was  showing  her 
husband  something  in  the  farther  end  of  the 
room.  After  that  she  did  not  think  of  them. 

The  sun  went  lower  in  the  sky  and  flamed 
along  the  sward.  He  spoke  of  the  mystical 
power  of  the  waving  daisies  and  the  glowing 
greens  which  no  painter  ever  seems  to  paint. 
While  they  looked  from  the  windows  their  arms 
touched,  and  they  both  tried  to  ignore  it.  She 
shivered  a  little  as  if  a  cold  wind  had  blown 


UPON  IMPULSE.  273 

upon  her.  At  last  she  led  the  way  out  and  down 
the  stairs  to  the  campus.  They  heard  the  gay 
laughter  of  the  company  at  their  cakes  and  ices, 
up  at  the  central  building. 

He  stopped  outside  the  hallway,  and  as  she 
looked  up  inquiringly  at  him,  he  said  quietly : 
u  Suppose  we  go  down  the  road.  It  seems 
pleasanter  there." 

She  acquiesced  like  one  in  a  pleasure  which 
made  duty  seem  absurd. 

Strong  and  fine  as  she  was,  she  had  never 
found  a  lover  to  whom  she  yielded  her  compan 
ionship  with  unalloyed  delight.  She  was  thirty 
years  of  age,  and  her  girlhood  was  past.  She 
looked  at  this  man,  and  a  suffocating  band  seemed 
to  encircle  her  throat.  She  knew  he  was  strong 
and  good.  He  was  a  little  saddened  with  life — 
that  she  read  in  his  deep-set  eyes  and  unsmiling 
lips. 

The  road  led  toward  the  river,  and  as  they 
left  the  campus  they  entered  a  lane  shaded  by 
natural  oaks.  He  talked  on  slowly.  He  asked 
her  what  her  plans  were. 

"  To  teach  and  to  live,"  she  said.  Her  en 
thusiasm  for  the  work  seemed  entirely  gone. 

Once  he  said,  "  This  is  the  finest  hour  of  my 
life." 

On  the  bank  of  the  river  they  paused  and 
seated  themselves  on  the  sward  under  a  tree 
whose  roots  fingered  the  stream  with  knuckled 
hands. 

"  Yes,   every  time  you   look   up  at  me  you 


2/4  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

bring  back  my  boyish  idol,"  he  went  on.  "  She 
was  older  than  I.  It  is  as  if  I  had  grown  older 
and  she  had  not,  and  that  she  were  you,  or  you 
were  she.  I  can't  tell  you  how  it  has  affected 
me.  Every  movement  you  make  goes  deep 
down  into  my  sweetest,  tenderest  recollections. 
It's  always  June  there,  always  sweet  and  sunny. 
Her  death  and  burial  were  mystical  in  their 
beauty.  I  looked  in  her  coffin.  She  was  the 
grandest  statue  that  ever  lay  in  marble ;  the 
Greek  types  are  insipid  beside  that  vision. 
You'll  say  I  idealized  her  ;  possibly  I  did,  but 
there  she  is.  O  God !  it  was  terrible  to  see  one 
die  so  young  and  so  lovely." 

There  was  a  silence.  Tears  came  to  her 
eyes.  He  could  only  exclaim ;  weeping  was 
denied  him.  His  voice  trembled,  but  grew 
firmer  as  he  went  on : 

"And  now  you  come.  I  don't  know  exactly 
in  what  way  you  resemble  her.  I  only  know  you 
shake  me  as  no  other  human  being  has  done 
since  that  coffin-lid  shut  out  her  face."  He 
lifted  his  head  and  looked  around.  "  But  Na 
ture  is  beautiful  and  full  of  light  and  buoyancy. 
I  am  not  going  to  make  you  sad.  I  want  to 
make  you  happy.  I  was  only  a  boy  to  her.  She 
cared  for  me  only  as  a  mature  woman  likes  an 
apt  pupil,  but  she  made  all  Nature  radiant  for 
me,  as  you  do  now." 

He  smiled  upon  her  suddenly.  His  somber 
mood  passed  like  one  of  the  shadows  of  the 
clouds  floating  over  the  campus.  It  was  only 


UPON  IMPULSE. 


275 


a  recollected  mood.  As  he  looked  at  her  the 
old  hunger  came  into  his  heart,  but  the  buoy 
ancy  and  emotional  exaltation  of  youth  came 
back  also. 

"  Miss  Powell,  are  you  free  to  marry  me  ? "  he 
said  suddenly. 

She  grew  very  still,  but  she  flushed  and  then 
she  turned  her  face  away  from  him.  She  had  no 
immediate  reply. 

"  That  is  an  extraordinary  thing  to  ask  you, 
I  know,"  he  went  on  ;  "  but  it  seems  as  if  I  had 
known  you  a  long  time,  and  then  sitting  here  in 
the  midst  of  Nature  with  the  insects  singing 
all  about  us — well,  conventions  are  not  so  vital 
as  in  drawing  rooms.  Remember  your  Brown 
ing." 

She  who  had  declaimed  Browning  so  blithely 
now  sat  silent,  but  the  color  went  out  of  her 
face,  and  she  listened  to  the  multitudinous  stir 
and  chirp  of  living  things,  and  her  eyes  dreamed 
as  he  went  on  steadily,  his  eyes  studying  her 
face. 

"  Browning  believed  in  these  impulses.  I'll 
admit  I  never  have.  I've  always  reasoned  upon 
things,  at  least  since  I  became  a  man.  It 
has  brought  me  little,  and  I'm  much  disposed 
to  try  the  virtue  of  an  impulse.  I  feel  as  certain 
that  we  can  be  happy  together  as  I  am  of  life, 
so  I  come  back  to  my  question,  Are  you  free  to 
marry  me  ?" 

She  flushed  again.  "  I  have  no  other  ties,  if 
that  is  what  you  mean." 


2/6  WAYSIDE   COURTSHIPS. 

"  That  is  what  I  mean  precisely.  I  felt  that 
you  were  free,  like  myself.  I  might  ask  Blakesly 
to  vouch  for  me,  but  I  prefer  not.  I  ask  for 
no  one's  opinion  of  you.  Can't  you  trust  to 
that  insight  of  which  women  are  supposed  to  be 
happily  possessed  ?  " 

She  smiled  a  little.  "  I  never  boasted  of  any 
divining  power." 

He  came  nearer.  "  Come,  you  and  I  have 
gone  by  rule  and  reason  long  enough.  Here  we 
have  a  magnificent  impulse ;  let  us  follow. 
Don't  ask  me  to  wait,  that  would  spoil  it  all ; 
considerations  would  come  in." 

"  Ought  they  not  to  come  in  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  replied,  and  his  low  voice  had  the 
intensity  of  a  trumpet.  "  If  this  magnificent 
moment  passes  by,  this  chance  for  a  pure  im 
pulsive  choice,  it  is  lost  forever.  You  know 
Browning  makes  much  of  such  lost  opportuni 
ties.  Seeing  you  there  with  bent  head  and 
blowing  hair,  I  would  throw  the  world  away 
to  become  the  blade  of  grass  you  break.  There, 
will  that  do  ?  "  He  smiled. 

<k  That  speech  should  bring  back  youth  to  us 
both,"  she  said. 

"  Right  action  now  will,"  he  quickly  an 
swered. 

"  But  I  must  consider." 

"  Do  not.     Take  the  impulse." 

"  It  may  be  wayward." 

"We've  both  got  beyond  the  wayward  im 
pulse.  This  impulse  rises  from  the  profound 


UPON  IMPULSE.  277 

deeps.  Come,  the  sun  sinks,  the  insect  voices 
thicken,  a  star  passes  behind  the  moon,  and  life 
hastens.  Come  into  my  life.  Can't  you  trust 
me  ? " 

She  grew  very  white,  but  a  look  of  exaltation 
came  into  her  face.  She  lifted  her  clear,  steady 
eyes  to  his.  She  reached  her  hand  to  his.  "  I 
will,"  she  said,  and  they  rose  and  stood  together 
thus. 

He  uncovered  his  head.  A  sort  of  awe  fell 
upon  him.  A  splendid  human  life  was  put  into 
his  keeping. 

"A  pure  choice,"  he  said  exultingly  —  "a 
choice  untouched  by  considerations.  It  brings 
back  the  youth  of  the  world." 

The  sun  lay  along  the  sward  in  level  lines, 
the  sky  was  full  of  clouds  sailing  in  file,  like 
mighty  purple  cranes  in  saffron  seas  of  flame, 
the  wind  wavered  among  the  leaves,  and  the  in 
sects  sang  in  sudden  ecstasy  of  life. 

The  two  looked  into  each  other's  faces. 
They  seemed  to  be  transfigured,  each  to  the 
other. 

"  You  must  not  go  back,"  he  said.  "  They 
would  not  understand  you  nor  me.  We  will 
never  be  so  near  a  great  happiness,  a  great  holi 
day.  It  is  holiday  time.  Let  us  go  to  the 
mountains." 

She  drew  a  sigh  as  if  all  her  cares  and  duties 
dropped  from  her,  then  she  smiled  and  a  com 
prehending  light  sparkled  in  her  eyes. 

"Very  well,  to  the  clouds  if  you  will." 


THE  END  OF  LOVE  IS  LOVE 
OF  LOVE. 

THEY  lay  on  the  cliff  where  the  warm  sun  fell. 
Beneath  them  were  rocks,  lichen- spotted  above,  and 
orange  and  russet  and  pink  beneath. 

Around  the  headland  the  ocean  ravened  with 
roaring  breath,  flinging  itself  ceaselessly  on  the 
land,  only  to  fall  back  with  clutching  snarl  over 
the  pebbles. 

The  smell  of  hot  cedars  was  in  the  air.  The 
distant  ships  drove  by  with  huge  sails  bellying. 
Occasional  crickets  chirped  faintly.  Sandpipers 
skimmed  the  beach. 

The  man  and  woman  were  both  gray.  He  lay 
staring  at  the  sky.  She  sat  with  somber  eyes  fixed 
on  the  distant  sea,  whose  crawling  lines  glittered  in 
ever -changing  designs  on  its  purple  sweep. 

They  were  man  and  wife  ;  both  were  older  than 
their  years.  They  were  far  past  the  land  of  youth 
and  love. 

"  O  wife  !  "  he  cried,  "  let  us  forget  we  are  old  ; 
let  us  forget  we  are  disillusioned  of  life  ;  let  us  try 
to  be  boy  and  girl  again.'" 

279 


2  8O  WA  YSIDE   CO  UR  T SHI  PS. 

The  woman  shivered  with  a  pou>erful,  vague 
emotion,  but  she  did  not  look  at  him. 

"  O  Esther,  I'm  tired  of  life !  "  the  man  went 
on.  "  Fm  tired  of  my  children.  Fm  tired  of  you. 
Do  you  know  what  I  mean  ?  " 

The  woman  looked  into  his  eyes  a  moment,  and 
said  in  a  low  voice : 

"  No,  Charles."  But  the  man  knew  she  meant 
yes.  The  touch  of  her  hand  grew  cold. 

"  Fm  tired  of  it  all.  I  want  to  feel  again  the 
wonder  and  mystery  of  life.  Ifs  all  gone.  The 
love  we  have  now  is  good  and  sweet  and  true  ;  that 
of  the  old  time  was  sweeter.  It  was  so  marvelous. 
1  trembled  when  I  kissed  you,  dear.  I  dont 
now.  It  had  more  of  truth,  of  pure,  unconscious 
passion,  and  less  of  habit.  Oh,  teach  me  to  for 
get!" 

He  crept  nearer  to  her,  and  laid  his  head  in  her 
lap.  His  face  was  knotted  with  his  passion  and 
pain. 

The  wife  and  mother  sighed,  and  looked  down  at 
his  hair,  which  was  getting  white. 

"  Well,  Charles ! "  she  said,  and  caressingly 
buried  her  fingers  in  his  hair.  "I'll  try  to  forget 
for  your  sake" 

He  could  not  understand  her.  He  did  not  try. 
He  lay  with  closed  eyes,  tired,  purposeless.  The 
sweet  sea  wind  touched  his  cheek,  white  with  the 
indoor  pallor  of  the  desk  worker.  The  sound  of  the 
sea  exalted  him.  The  beautiful  clouds  above  him 
carried  him  back  to  boyhood.  There  were  tears  on 
his  face  as  he  looked  up  at  her. 


THE  END  OF  LOVE  IS  LOVE  OF  LOVE.    28 1 

"  I'm  forgetting  !  "  he  said,  with  a  smile  of  ex 
ultation. 

J3ut  the  woman  looked  away  at  the  violet-shad 
owed  sails,  afar  on  the  changeful  purple  of  the  sea, 
and  her  throat  choked  with  pain. 


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ters  are  living,  stirring,  palpitating  human  beings,  v  ho  will  glow  in  the  reader's  memory 
long  after  he  has  turned  over  the  last  pages  of  this  remarkably  fascinating  book." — 
London  Daily  Mail. 

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Of  continuous  and  vivid  interest" — Philadelphia  Press. 

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incidents  and  wonderfully  attractive  depictions  of  character.  Indeed,  one  might  almost 
say  of  '  The  Reds  of  the  Midi'  that  it  has  all  the  fire  and  forcefulness  of  the  elder 
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"  A  charmingly  told  story,  and  all  the  more  delightful  because  of  the  unstudied 
simplicity  of  the  spokesman,  Pascalet.  Felix  Gras  is  a  true  artist,  and  he  has  pleaded 
the  cause  of  a  hated  people  with  the  tact  and  skill  that  only  an  artist  could  employ." — 
Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  Much  excellent  revolutionary  fiction  in  many  languages  has  been  written  since 
the  announcement  of  the  expiration  of  1889,  or  rather  since  the  contemporary  publica 
tion  of  old  war  records  newly  discovered,  but  there  is  none  more  vivid  than  this  story 
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last  word  interest  in  the  book  never  wanes;  one  finds  it  difficult  to  interrupt  the  narra 
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Mighty'  one  of  the  books  of  the  year."  —  Chicago  Record. 

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Tek graph. 

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quaint  simplicity  of  its  style  isdelightftil,  and  the  adventures  recorded  in  these  '  Chron 
icles  of  Count  Antonio '  are  as  stirring  and  ingenious  as  any  conceived  even  by  Wey- 
man  at  his  best." — New  York  World. 

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mantic  style.  The  characters,  drawn  with  such  masterly  handling,  are  not  merely  pic 
tures  and  portraits,  but  statues  that  are  alive  and  step  boldly  forward  from  the  canvas." 
— Boston  Courier. 

"  Told  in  a  wonderfully  simple  and  direct  style,  and  with  the  magic  touch  of  a  man 
who  has  the  genius  of  narrative,  making  the  varied  incidents  flow  naturally  and  rapidly 
in  a  stream  of  sparkling  discourse." — Detroit  Tribune. 

"  Easily  ranks  with,  if  not  above,  '  A  Prisoner  of  Zenda.'  .  .  .  Wonderfully  strong, 
graphic,  and  compels  the  interest  of  the  most  blast  novel  reader."— Boston  Advertiser. 

"  No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  telling  than  those  of  Count  Antonio.  .  .  . 
The  author  knows  full  well  how  to  make  every  pulse  thrill,  and  how  to  hold  his  readers 
under  the  spell  of  his  magic." — Boston  Herald. 

"  A  book  to  make  women  weep  proud  tears,  and  the  blood  of  men  to  tingle  with 
knightly  fervor.  ...  In  '  Count  Antonio  '  we  think  Mr.  Hope  surpasses  himself,  as  he 
has  already  surpassed  all  the  other  story-tellers  of  the  period." — New  York  Spirit  of 
the  Times.  

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NOVELS   BY   HALL  CAINE. 
'IT HE  MANXMAN.     121110.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"A  story  of  marvelous  dramatic  intensity,  and  in  it?  ethical  meaning  has  a  force 
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"A  work  of  power  which  is  another  stone  added  to  the  foundation  of  enduring  fame 
to  which  Mr.  Caine  is  yearly  adding."— Public  Opinion. 

"A  wonderfully  strong  study  of  character;  a  powerful  analysis  of  those  elements 
which  go  to  make  up  the  strength  and  weakness  of  a  man,  which  are  at  fierce  warfare 
within  the  same  breast;  contending  against  each  other,  as  it  were,  the  one  to  raise  him 
to  fame  and  power,  the  other  to  drag  him  down  to  degradation  and  shame  Never  in 
the  whole  range  of  literature  have  we  seen  the  struggle  between  these  forces  for 
supremacy  over  the  man  more  powerfully,  more  realistically  delineated  than  Mr.  Caine 
pictures  it." — Boston  Home  Journal. 


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HE    DEEMSTER.      A    Romance   of  the   Isle   of 
Man.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Hall  Caine  has  already  given  us  some  very  strong  and  fine  work,  and  '  The 
Deemster'  is  a  story  of  unusual  power.  ..  .  .  Certain  passages  and  chapters  have  an 
intensely  dramatic  grasp,  and  hold  the  fascinated  reader  with  a  force  rarely  excited 
nowadays  in  literature." — The  Critic. 

"  One  of  the  strongest  novels  which  has  appeared  in  many  a  day." — San  Fran 
cisco  Chronicle. 

"  Fascinates  the  mind  like  the  gathering  and  bursting  of  a  storm." — Illustrated 
London  News. 

"Deserves  to  be  ranked  among  the  remarkable  novels  of  the  day." — Chicago 
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HE  BONDMAN.     New  edition.     i2mo.     Cloth, 
$1.50. 

"  The  welcome  given  to  this  story  has  cheered  and  touched  me,  but  I  am  con 
scious  that,  to  win  a  reception  so  warm,  such  a  book  must  have  had  readers  who 
brought  to  it  as  much  as  they  took  away.  ...  I  have  called  my  story  a  saga,  merely 
because  it  follows  the  epic  method,  and  I  must  not  claim  for  it  at  any  point  the  weighty 
responsibility  of  history,  or  serious  obligations  to  the  world  of  fact.  But  it  matters  not 
to  me  what  Icelanders  may  call  '  The  Bondman,'  if  they  will  honor  me  by  reading  it  in 
the  open-hearted  spirit  and  with  the  free  mind  with  which  they  are  content  to  read  of 
Grettir  and  of  his  fights  with  the  Tr6&."—ftvm  the  Author's  Preface. 


c 


APT'N    DAVY'S    HONEYMOON.      A    Manx 
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ilways  that  an  author  can  succeed  equally  well  in  tragedy  and  in  comedy,  but  it  looks 
as  though  Mr.  Hall  Caine  would  be  one  of  the  exceptions." — London  Literary 
World. 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  meet  the  author  of  '  The  Deemster '  in  a  brightly  humorous  little 
*tory  like  this.  ...  It  shows  the  same  observation  of  Manx  character,  and  much  of 
ihe  same  artistic  skill."— Philadelphia  Times. 


New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  WEST  SERIES. 
Edited  by  Kipley  Hitchcock. 

"  There  is  a  vast  extent  of  territory  lying  between  the  Missouri  River  and  the  Pacific 
•coast  which  has  barely  been  skimmed  over  so  far.  That  the  conditions  of  life  therein 
are  undergoing  changes  little  short  of  marvelous  will  be  understood  when  one  recalls 
the  fact  that  the  first  white  male  cliild  born  in  Kansas  is  still  living  there;  and  Kansas 
is  by  no  means  one  of  the  newer  States.  Revolutionary  indeed  has  been  the  upturning 
of  the  old  condition  of  affairs,  and  little  remains  thereof,  and  less  will  remain  as  each 
year  goes  by,  until  presently  there  will  be  only  tradition  of  the  Sioux  and  Comanches, 
the  cowboy  life,  the  wild  horse,  and  the  antelope.  Histories,  many  of  them,  have  been 
written  about  the  Western  country  alluded  to,  but  most  if  not  practically  all  by  outsiders 
who  knew  not  personally  that  life  of  kaleidoscopic  allurement.  But  ere  it  shall  have 
vanished  forever  we  are  likely  to  have  truthful,  complete,  and  charming  portrayals  o( 
it  produced  by  men  who  actually  knew  the  life  and  have  the  power  to  describe  it." — 
Henry  Edward  Rood,  in  the  Mail  and  Express. 


T 


NOW  READY. 

HE  STORY  OF  THE  INDIAN.  By  GEORGE 
BIRD  GRINNELL,  author  of  "  Pawnee  Hero  Stories,"  "  Black- 
foot  Lodge  Tales,"  etc.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  In  every  way  worthy  of  an  author  who,  as  an  authority  upon  the  Western  Indians, 
is  second  to  none.  A  book  full  of  color,  abounding  in  observation,  and  remarkable  in 
sustained  interest,  it  is  at  the  same  time  characterized  by  a  grace  of  style  which  is  rarely 
to  be  looked  for  in  such  a  work,  and  which  adds  not  a  little  to  the  charm  of  it." — 
London  Daily  Chronicle. 

"  Only  an  author  qualified  by  personal  experience  could  offer  us  a  profitable  study 
of  a  race  so  alien  from  our  own  as  is  the  Indian  in  thought,  feeling,  and  culture.  Only 
long  association  with  Indians  can  enable  a  white  man  measurably  to  comprehend  their 
thoughts  and  enter  into  their  feelings.  Such  association  has  been  Mr.  GrinneH's." — 
New  York  Sun, 


T 


HE    STORY   OF    THE   MINE.      By  CHARLES 
HOWARD  SHINN.     Illustrated.     I2mo.    Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  The  author  has  written  a  book,  not  alone  full  of  information,  but  replete  with  the 
true  romance  of  the  American  mine." — New  York  Times. 

"  Few  chapters  of  recent  history  are  more  fascinating  than  that  which  Mr.  Shinn 
has  told  in  '  The  Story  of  the  Mine.'  "—The  Outlook. 

"Both  a  history  and  a  romance.  .  .  .  Highly  interesting,  new,  and  thrilling."— 
Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

IN  PREPARATION. 

The  Story  of  the  Trapper.     By  GILBERT  PARKER. 

The  Story  of  the  Cowboy.     By  E.  HOUGH. 

The  Story  of  the  Soldier.    By  Capt.  J.  McB.  STEMBEL,  U.  S.  A. 

The  Story  of  the  Explorer. 

The  Story  of  the  Railroad. 


New  York :    D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

NOVELS  BY  MAARTEN  MAARTENS. 

GREATER  GLORY.  A  Story  of  High  Lift. 
By  MAARTEN  MAARTENS,  author  of  "God's  Fool,"  "Joost 
Avelingh,"  etc.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Until  the  Appletons  discovered  the  merits  of  Maarten  Maartens,  the  foremost  of 
Dutch  novelists,  it  is  doubtful  if  many  American  readers  knew  that  there  were  Dutch 
novelists.  His  '  God's  Fool '  and  'Joost  Avelingh '  made  for  him  an  American  reputa 
tion.  To  our  mind  this  just  published  work  of  his  is  his  best.  .  .  .  He  is  a  master  oi 
epigram,  an  artist  in  description,  a  prophet  in  insight." — Boston  Advertiser. 

"  It  would  take  several  columns  to  give  any  adequate  idea  of  the  superb  way  in 
which  the  Dutch  novelist  has  developed  his  theme  and  wrought  out  one  of  the  most 
impressive  stories  of  the  period.  ...  It  belongs  to  the  small  class  of  novels  which 
One  can  not  afford  to  neglect." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  Maarten  Maartens  stands  head  and  shoulders  above  the  average  novelist  of  the 
flay  in  intellectual  subtlety  and  imaginative  power." — Boston  Beacon. 


'  FOOL.     By  MAARTEN    MAARTENS.      1 2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Throughout  there  is  an  epigrammatic  force  which  would  make  palatable  a  less 
interesting  story  of  human  lives  or  one  less  deftly  told." — London  Saturday  Review. 

"  Perfectly  easy,  graceful,  humorous.  .  .  .  The  author's  skill  in  character-drawing 
is  undeniable." — London  Chronicle. 

"  A  remarkable  work." — New  York  Times. 

"Maarten  Maartens  has  secured  a  firm  footing  in  the  eddies  of  current  literature. 
.  .  .  Pathos  deepens  into  tragedy  in  the  thrilling  story  of '  God's  Fool.'" — PhiladeL 
phia  Ledger. 

"  Its  preface  alone  stamps  the  author  as  one  of  the  leading  English  novelists  of 
to-day." — Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"The  story  is  wonderfully  brilliant.  .  .  .  The  interest  never  lags;  the  style  is 
realistic  and  intense ;  and  there  is  a  constantly  underlying  current  of  subtle  humor. 
...  It  is,  in  short,  a  book  which  no  student  of  modern  literature  should  fail  to  read." 
—Boston  Times. 

"  A  story  of  remarkable  interest  and  point." — New  York  Observer. 

VOST  AVELINGH.      By  MAARTEN    MAARTENS. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"So  unmistakably  good  as  to  induce  tne  hope  that  an  acquaintance  with  the  Dutch 
literature  of  fiction  may  soon  become  more  general  among  us." — London  Morning 
Post. 

"  In  scarcely  any  of  the  sensational  novels  of  the  day  will  the  reader  find  more 
nature  or  more  human  nature." — London  Standard. 

"A  novel  of  a  very  high  type.  At  once  strongly  realistic  and  powerfully  ideal 
istic." — London  Literary  World. 

"  Full  of  local  color  and  rich  in  quaint  phraseology  and  suggestion." — London 
Telegraph. 

"  Maarten  Maartens  is  a  capital  story-teller." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"Our  English  writers  of  fiction  will  have  to  look  to  their  laurels." — Birmingham 
Daily  Post. 

New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO..  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


D.   APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

RUDYARD  KIPLING'S  NEW  BOOK. 

SEVEN  SEAS.  A  new  volume  of  poems  by 
RUDYARD  KIPLING,  author  of  "  Many  Inventions,"  "  Barrack- 
Room  Ballads,"  etc.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50;  half  calf,  $3.00; 
morocco,  $5.00. 

"The  spirit  and  method  of  Kipling's  fresh  and  virile  song  have  taken  the  English 
reading  world.  .  .  .  When  we  turn  to  the  larger  portion  of '  The  Seven  Seas,'  how 
imaginative  it  is,  how  impassioned,  how  superbly  rhythmic  and  sonorous !  .  .  .  The 
ring  and  diction  of  this  verse  add  new  elements  to  our  song.  .  .  .  The  true  laureate 
of  Greater  Britain." — E.  C.  Stedman,  in  the  Book  Buyer. 

"  The  most  original  poet  who  has  appeared  in  his  generation.  .  .  .  His  is  the  lusti 
est  voice  now  lifted  in  the  world,  the  clearest,  the  bravest,  with  the  fewest  false  notes 
in  it.  ...  1  Jo  not  see  why,  in  reading  his  book,  we  should  not  put  ourselves  in  the 
presence  of  a  great  poet  again,  and  consent  to  put  off  our  mourning  for  the  high  ones 
lately  dead."—  W.  D.  Howells. 

"  The  new  poems  of  Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling  have  all  the  spirit  and  swing  of  their 
predecessors.  Throughout  they  are  instinct  with  the  qualities  which  arc  essentially 
his,  and  which  have  made,  and  seem  likely  to  keep,  for  him  his  position  and  wide 
popularity." — London  Times. 

"  He  has  the  very  heart  of  movement,  for  the  lack  of  which  no  metrical  science 
cculd  atone.  He  goes  far  because  he  can."— London  Academy. 

"'The  Seven  Seas'  is  the  most  remarkable  book  of  verse  that  Mr.  Kipling  has 
given  us.  Here  the  human  sympathy  is  broader  and  deeper,  the  patriotism  heartier 
and  fuller,  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  insight  keener,  the  command  of  the  literary 
vehicle  more  complete  and  sure,  than  in  any  previous  verse  work  by  the  author.  The 
volume  pulses  with  power — power  often  rough  and  reckless  in  expression,  but  invariably 
conveying  the  effect  intended.  There  is  scarcely  a  line  which  does  not  testify  to  the 
strong  individuality  of  the  writer." — London  Globe. 

"  If  a  man  holding  this  volume  in  his  hands,  with  all  its  extravagance  and  its  savage 
realism,  is  not  aware  that  it  is  animated  through  and  through  with  indubitable  genius — 
then  he  must  be  too  much  the  slave  of  the  conventional  and  the  ordinary  to  understand 
that  Poetry  metamorphoses  herself  in  many  diverse  forms,  and  that  its  one  sovereign 
and  indefeasible  justification  is — truth."— London  Daily  Telegraph. 

"  '  The  Seven  Seas '  is  packed  with  inspiration,  with  humor,  with  pathos,  and  with 
the  old  unequaled  insight  into  the  mind  of  the  rank  and  file." — London  Daily  Chronicle. 

"  Mr.  Kipling's  '  The  Seven  Seas '  is  a  distinct  advance  upon  his  characteristic 
lines.  The  surpassing  strength,  the  almost  violent  originality,  the  glorious  swish  and 
swing  of  his  lines — all  are  there  in  increased  measure.  .  .  .  The  book  is  a  marvel  of 
originality  and  genius — a  brand-new  landmark  in  the  history  of  English  letters."— 
Chicago  Tribune. 

"  In  '  The  Seven  Seas'  are  displayed  all  of  Kipling's  prodigious  gifts.  .  .  .  Whoever 
reads  '  The  Seven  Seas '  will  be  vexed  by  the  desire  to  read  it  again.  The  average 
charm  of  the  gifts  alone  is  irresistible."— Boston  yournal. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

\fEKL.  A  Tale  of  the  New  York  Ghetto.  By  A.  CAHAN. 
Uniform  with  "  The  Red  Badge  of  Courage."  I2mo.  Cloth, 
$1.00. 

"  A  new  and  striking  tale;  the  charm,  the  verity,  the  literary  quality  of  the  book  de 
pend  upon  its  study  of  character,  its  'local  color,'  its  revelation  to  Americans  of  a  social 
state  at  their  very  doors  of  which  they  have  known  nothing." — New  York  Times. 

"The  story  is  a  revelation  to  us.  It  is  written  in  a  spirited,  breezy  way,  with  an 
originality  in  the  telling  of  which  is  quite  unexpected.  The  dialect  is  striking  in  its 
truth  to  Nature." — Boston  Courier. 

"  Is  in  all  probability  the  only  true  picture  we  have  yet  had  of  that  most  densely 
populated  spot  on  the  face  of  the  earth— the  ghetto  of  the  metropolis,  rather  the  me 
tropolis  of  the  ghettos  of  the  world." — New  York  Journal. 

"  A  series  of  vivid  pictures  of  a  strange  people.  .  .  .  The  people  and  their  social  life 
the  author  depicts  with  marvelous  success." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  The  reader  will  become  deeply  interested  in  Mr.  Cahan's  graphic  presentation  of 
ghetto  life  in  New  York." — Minneapolis  Journal. 

"A  strong,  quaint  story." — Detroit  Tribune. 

"  Every  feature  of  the  book  bears  the  stamp  of  truth.  .  .  .  Undoubtedly  'Yekl» 
has  never  been  excelled'as  a  picture  of  the  distinctive  life  of  the  New  York  ghetto." — 
Boston  Herald. 


T 


HE  SENTIMENTAL  SEX.   By  GERTRUDE  WAR 
DEN.     I2mo.    Cloth,  $1.00. 

"The  cleverest  book  by  a  woman  that  has  been  published  for  months.  .  .  .  Such 
books  as  'The  Sentimental  Sex'  are  exemplars  of  a  modern  cult  that  will  not  be 
ignored." — New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  There  is  a  well- wrought  mystery  in  the  story  and  some  surprises  that  preserve 
the  reader's  interest,  and  render  it,  when  all  is  said,  a  story  of  considerable  charm." — 
Boston  Courier. 

"  An  uncommonly  knowing  little  book,  which  keeps  a  good  grip  on  the  reader  up  to 
the  last  page.  .  .  .  The  author's  method  of  handling  the  plot  is  adroit  and  original."— 
Rochester  Herald. 

"  Miss  Warden  has  worked  out  her  contrasts  very  strikingly,  and  tells  her  story 
in  a  cleverly  flippant  way,  which  keeps  the  reader  on  the  qui  vive  for  the  cynical  but 
bright  sayings  she  has  interspersed." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  The  story  forms  an  admirable  study.  The  style  is  graphic,  the  plot  original  and 
cleverly  wrought  out." — Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


>Om-l,'69(J5643sS)2373— 3A,1 


STORED  AT  NRLF 


m  3  2106  00206  9109 


